


Subject A5: Newt, the Glue

by snifflyfists314



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 28,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snifflyfists314/pseuds/snifflyfists314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically an entire fanfic circled around Newt for all you Newt-craving readers out there. The Maze Runner Trilogy from Newt's POV. I'll be updating every Saturday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kept in WICKED

The boy, at 7, taken from them  
Taken from mum and taken from dad  
To the facility he goes, away from the Scorch  
They feed him, clothe him, give him a home  
But do they give him love? They don’t.

He thinks he’s safe  
Oh how he is wrong  
They’re raising him  
To be tough and strong.  
In order to experiment,  
Look at his brain.  
All this, so the earth  
Can be safe again

Many years later, oh how the boy  
He has grown, sadly, into a ploy  
16 years old, memory wiped  
Stolen from him, everything he liked  
Knowledge of his family, his long gone home  
It will never exist, he is only flesh and bone

Sent up to the ground  
After 10 long years  
To a place called The Glade  
With new friends to make dear.

This boy, who used to be small and cute  
He has a new name now, and that is Newt.


	2. Up in the Glade

Newt found himself in a crammed metal cage. He could barely see what was around him, and the jerky movement of the cage made him nauseous. Bright white lights flashed past every few feet or so, making his eyes adjust quickly to the darkness surrounding him. He frantically looked around, the small space making his heart race, slamming heavily against his chest. Several barrels surrounded him with big bold words printed on them. WICKED. The metal cage continued accelerating upwards with no sign of slowing down. _If this bloody thing doesn’t slow down, I’m gonna get crushed and die._ His breathing quickened, eyes darted around, looking for a way to escape. The horrid creaking of the metal cage terrified him, and there was a scraping sound of metal against stone. About a minute or so passed. Newt couldn’t tell. The journey upwards seemed long and arduous. Another minute. Then, the cage screeched to a halt.

Above him, Newt could hear voices. “Help! Help me!” Newt called out, feeling a glimmer of hope. There was a creaking of hinges, and Newt was overwhelmed with the sudden bright light that illuminated his dark cage. He quickly tilted his head away, using his arms to shield his face from the bright light.

The cage shook as a boy jumped in beside him. “Hi, Greenie. Name’s Alby.” The boy -he introduced himself as Alby-, reached a hand out to Newt. Newt blinked and looked up, immediately accepting the hand. He was pulled up, then dragged out from the horrid metal cage. It was then that he realised he was surrounded by around 7 other boys. All boys. Not even a single girl. They were giving him curious stares, some whispering things to each other. He was in the middle of a large green field with tall stone walls surrounding it.

Alby came up to Newt and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name, Greenie?” _What is my name?_ Newt could not remember. That fact itself scared him. How could anyone forget his own name? For the second time that day, Newt panicked. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to recall everything. Anything. Nothing seemed to come back to him. Not his name, his age, or even his mother’s name. He began hyperventilating, confusion plaguing his mind. “Where the bloody hell am I? Why am I here? Why?” He exclaimed between sharp intakes of air.

“Hey. Calm down, Greenie. This is perfectly normal. You’ll remember your name in about a day or two. Just tell my whatever you know.” Alby said softly, not wanting to terrify the boy. Newt only shook his head repeatedly, clutching onto his blond hair.

“I- I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything.” Newt choked out, repeating the phrase like a mantra. His face was wet with tears, eyes red and puffy.

“Greenie, let’s bring you to the Homestead to have some water and let you calm down, then we’ll talk, alright?” It was an amusing sight; the slightly shorter Alby trying to comfort a sobbing Newt. Newt dumbly nodded, before following Alby to what seemed like a poorly built wooden house.


	3. Getting used to the Glade

“I happen to be the leader here because I was the first on up in the Glade. We’ve got 2 simple rules to follow around here. Do your part, and never harm another Glader,” Alby gently said. Gally continued, “Got that shank?” Newt nodded with soft hiccups, still unsure of the meaning of all the Glader slang.

“I’ll assign you things to do around the Glade tomorrow so that we can see which task is most suitable for you,” Alby paused for a while, before continuing, “and don’t worry about your memory loss. You’ll remember your name by tomorrow. Frypan should have dinner ready in about an hour, so you can wander off and explore the Glade. The forest at the other side of the Glade is called the Deadheads. Beside the Homestead is the Blood House. It’s where we get all the meat. You clear? Just meet here in time for dinner, alright?” Alby gave Newt a comforting pat on his back and left with Gally, letting Newt sit alone on the hard wooden floor of the Homestead.

Newt figured that stoning for an hour was not a good way to be spending his first few hours in the Glade. He was put in this strange place for a reason, and he would find a way out of it. A bugging thought at the back of his mind told him to explore the Glade and the magnificent tall walls surrounding it.

Newt wandered around the Glade and found the Deadheads. The name sounded creepy and scary, but Newt was curious to know what was in there. He slowly trekked through the mess of dead leaves and twigs, pushing away the densely-growing bushes. He stepped on a dried twig and it snapped loudly, startling him. “It’s fine. Calm your nerves,” Newt told himself in a low trembling voice, rubbing his arms nervously. He hesitantly ventured deeper into the forest, the eerie dimness giving him goosebumps.

The Deadheads didn’t seem to have anything that caught Newt’s attention except for a large, circular, empty patch of soil, and he figured that it was getting too dark to risk exploring such an isolated place. He hastily made his way back, tripping over some exposed tree roots.

Dinner that day made Newt realise how hungry he was. Everyone sat around a large fire with their individual bowls of food. Frypan’s dinner wasn’t anything fancy. Just a bowl of thick brown liquid with some unknown cubes that looked like potatoes, carrots and chunks of meat. “What exactly is in here?” Newt asked, scooping a big spoonful of the mushy stew just to let it splash back into the bowl.

“First rule in my kitchen, Greenie. Never ask me what I put in the stew. Whatever’s inside, you eat. Alright?” Frypan replied in a gruff voice. Alby leaned over and whispered to him, “Don’t worry. It is perfectly edible. We’ve been eating this for the past 2 months and none of us have fallen sick because of it.”

The night proceeded without much activity, and Newt got to know a few more Gladers. One of them was an Asian boy around Newt’s size, maybe a little shorter more muscular, especially around his arms. “I’m Minho. A Runner. The one that goes out into the Maze to find a way to escape from this shuck rat hole,” the boy had introduced.

“The Maze?” Newt asked, confused. “Yes, Greenie. This entire place is surrounded by a Maze made of stone walls, just like those surrounding the Glade,” Minho explained.

They had a nice conversation behind the Homestead, each with a jug of strange yellow liquid that tasted bitter. Newt cringed as he took a taste of it, sticking his tongue out in disgust. “What the bloody hell is this? I won’t die, will I?” he spat out. “Yeah, totally. You would die, and so will I,” Minho said with an eye roll. “ But I honestly don’t know either. Some funny thing that Alby made during the first month he was here. I think it’s got bits of ginger and alcohol. Maybe some herbs and possibly inedible plant roots. Alby’s a total shank at plants.” Newt felt that Minho was a pretty nice boy. He had a good sense of humour and sarcasm, but was friendly in general.

Another Glader he was introduced to was a short scrawny boy by the name of Clint. He was a med-jack and in charge of healing people in case anyone got injured in the Glade. When no one was injured, Clint would be mixing strange plants he found in the Deadheads, trying to find some sort of hair tonic that would help him get rid of the grey hairs he had. Newt snorted and sprayed the drink all over the grass when Minho told him that, and they had to stop their conversation for a while to let Newt recover from his coughing fit.

Newt went to sleep that night, the light snoring of Alby on the space beside him and the heat from the other Gladers surrounding him calming him down. Very soon, he drifted off to sleep in the company of his new friends.

* * *

_Newt, you’ll be safe with them, dear. Alright?_ Newt. Was that his name? He was certain it was. Newt jolted awake. “Newt,” he tried. That name slipped off his tongue smoothly, and Newt was sure that was his name. He repeated it several more times, each time louder than the previous. He rolled and crashed into Alby beside him. “Newt. Newt! My name is Newt!”


	4. A Trip around the Glade

Newt started his day in the Glade with a light breakfast of crushed corn that grew in abundance near the Deadheads. The meal wasn’t exactly what Newt would call appetizing, and he pushed it away after eating 5 spoons of the mush. He went off to meet Alby at the Gardens to begin his first day in the Glade.

Alby was tending to the grapes that grew on the vines, the thin tendrils curling around the wooden supports. “Good morning, Newt. You could come help me and cut off the weeds. I’ll just go open up the water tap at the other side of the garden,” Alby instructed before dashing off.

Newt stared at the tall winding vines, absolutely clueless about how to tend to them. He examined it, and brought the shears to a vine that had a different texture and colour. He cautiously snipped it, wondering if that was what Alby called a weed.

Alby returned not too long after and was proud of Newt’s progress. “You seem pretty good at this, huh? The grapes are looking good!” Newt was astounded. He didn’t even have a clue about what he was doing! “Uh, thanks? I didn’t know if I was cutting the right things though!” He chuckled.

They continued tending to the crops for the rest of the morning and Newt met the Keeper of the Gardens. His name was Zart, and he was very good with plants. Alby had named those working in the Gardens “Track-hoes”, and those in charge of the various jobs “Keepers”. “It’s because they track the growth of the plants with their hoes, digging up rotten roots and weeds, and people like Zart keep watch of the whole place and make sure everyone working does their job,” he explained. Newt couldn’t quite understand what that meant, but he nodded in agreement anyway.

They stopped for a lunch break, served with another portion of Frypan’s stew. “Do you like working in the Gardens, Newt?” Alby asked. “Not really. It doesn’t seem that interesting to me. I mean, you spend the entire bloody day taking care of plants. How fun could that be?” Newt scoffed. “I guess you’re not gonna be a Track-hoe then. Too bad, you seemed pretty shuck good at taking care of those plants.”

The next place Alby brought Newt to was the Bloodhouse. Newt found a muscular boy with an acne-filled face standing in the middle of the Bloodhouse, a pig hanging from a hook attached to the ceiling. The pig was already dead, but the sight of blood spewing out from an open gash at the pig’s throat made Newt’s stomach wrench and threatened his lunch back up. Newt had to turn away from the scene to prevent himself from throwing up. When he turned around, he met Alby’s concerned look. “You alright there, shank?” Newt weakly nodded, his face still scrunched up.

The duo didn’t spend much time in the Bloodhouse as Alby quickly figured that cutting up meat wasn’t Newt’s forte. Instead, they went back to the Homestead and found Gally digging up a patch of grass. “Hey Gally, what are you doing? Another of your little projects, eh?” Alby asked in a playful voice.

“Just making something like a prison. It’s about time we have some form of punishment around the Glade. We can’t afford Greenies coming up next time and shucking up everything we have done. Not talking about you, Newt!” Newt put his hands up defensively, a sign of ‘nope, no offense taken’. Gally continued digging, his shirt wet with sweat. The muscular boy scrapped at the soil, making a small circular hole just big enough for a person to sit in. “If you don’t mind, could someone help me get some wood to surround the place? There should be some in the Deadheads.” Gally asked.

Alby nudged Newt. “Newt, you go. You’re here for us to see what job you are suitable for anyway.” He nodded in understanding, hurrying off to the Deadheads. A pile of chopped wood lay in a neat pile in the middle and Newt quickly gathered some.

Newt spent the rest of his afternoon with Gally and Alby building what Gally coined the “Slammer”. He wrapped the long wooden poles together with twine to make a door while Gally and Alby drove more wood into the soil. The three boys finished building the Slammer just as the sun started setting.

A/N: I'm sorry if the story seems a little boring now, but the next chapter should be a little more eventful!


	5. Trouble in the Glade

During dinner, everyone’s attention was on the new structure that Gally had come up with. It stood tall and menacing, its narrow structure sending shivers down the Glader’s spines. “Anyone who dares to do anything funny here will be sent into the Slammer,” Gally barked. Minho raised an eyebrow at Gally’s outburst and rolled his eyes. “Minho, you want to be the first to try it out?” Gally challenged. 

“What did I do to you, shank? You think just because you were here before me, you can do this to me, huh? Mind you, I’m in charge of finding a way out of this shuck place. If you get on my bad side, you can forget about me showing you how to escape.” Minho growled.

“Oh! So now you have the right to pick and choose who you want to help out of this place, eh? And it seems I’m not one of those you are planning to help out, even though I helped you get used to this buggin’ place!” 

“I should help you out even when you gave me that stink attitude and wanted me in the Slammer?”

“You were the one who rolled your eyes at me.”

“Guys,” Newt interjected.

“That’s because you were being so cocky,” Minho continued.

“Minho!” Newt stressed. 

The childish argument between Minho and Gally continued, both raising their voices. Alby sat stiff at his spot, flustered at the first fight he witnessed in the Glade.

“Just bloody stop it!” Newt screamed. 

The nonsensical shouting ceased immediately. The other Gladers stared at him wide-eyed with their mouths hung open.

“I come here for 27 bloody hours, and you shanks start fighting? What the bloody heck is wrong with you? You all are teenagers, so act like one. Minho, no one is going to be left behind in the Maze. We were all put here, and we are all gonna get out of his rat hole together. And Gally, please. No threatening, especially when no one did anything wrong.” Newt got up from his seat, angrily striding back to the Homestead. Alby followed behind him.

“That. I never expected that Newt,” Alby gasped after closing the door behind them.” Even I myself, I was unable to bring myself to stop the two of them. I never expected any of them to fight, especially over something so stupid like the Slammer thing Gally made. But you could actually stop those two. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are amazing. Do you… you know... would you like to help me around here? Be something like my Second-in-command? I know you’ve only been here a little more than a day, but so far all I’ve seen from you is pure leadership. I understand if you don’t want to… but-”

“Shut up, Alby. I don’t know how you can trust me so easily on this. I was here for just more than a bloody day and you want to make me second-in-command? All I did was to shut those two shanks up because it annoyed me. How is that even leadership? Why not someone like Minho? Minho is a shucking good leader himself! Or- or maybe even Gally!” Newt interrupted 

“Well Minho is the only Runner, so he himself has a pretty large responsibility. I doubt he will have the time to take care of you guys. And even though Gally has been around here longer than Minho, he tends to be pretty stubborn. I just have this intuition that you and I will be able to run this place smoothly together. Take care of all the kids, make sure they do what they are supposed to, and maintain order around here. I hope y-”

“I don’t mind being your ‘Second-in-command’, but only if you stop all this bloody rambling,” Newt replied teasingly. 

“So... It’s set? You’re gonna help me run this place, ‘kay? Make sure everything is in order and that no one fights,” Alby asked, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. He had no idea why he trusted this Greenie after one day, but something told him that Newt would make a good leader.

“Of course, shuckface. Wanna go finish our dinner?” Newt suggested. 

The two returned to the rest of the Gladers; Minho and Gally had already calmed down but sending each other sharp glares. The other Gladers continued having their dinner, softly whispering, not wanting to make Minho or Gally angry again. The quietness would be broken by a loud laughter, then silenced by a scowl from Gally.

“So erm... While you shanks were having your little petty fights, Newt and I discussed some stuff,” Alby began nervously. He wasn’t sure of the reactions he would receive from the Gladers. Everyone stopped their small conversations and looked at their leader. “This might seem pretty rash and all, but I have decided that I would need someone to help me take care of all you shanks. So yeah. I asked Newt if he wanted to help and he has agreed. All we need now is your consent, then Newt will officially become my Second-in-command. Any one has any strong objections?” 

Gally immediately stood up. “Me. Alby, think about it. Newt’s only been here for a day, and you already want him to run this place? How do you know this shank’s not going to wreck up this entire place?”

“If anyone’s gonna wreck up this place, it will probably be you, Captain Gally,” Minho mocked. “I personally think Newt will be a fine leader. Sure, he told me off just now for not being selfish and all, but that’s what we need here. Someone firm, someone that thinks of everyone. Newt here values order, and we need order here to be able to live together get out of this shuck place.” 

When Minho finished, the whole Glade erupted with a clamour of noises, everyone trying to voice out their own opinions. Most of them, from what Alby could hear, were quite convinced by Minho’s stand and decided that Alby’s decision was not that bad afterall. There were some, however, who didn’t think Newt deserved to be one.

Eventually, they all did a poll, and Newt was selected to be their Second-in-command. “So I’ll have to listen to orders from a Greenie, huh? Sounds good,” Gally scoffed as he plodded back to the Homestead. 

Alby sent Newt an apologetic smile and a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Newt. Gally’s just being an annoying klunk. He’ll get better over the next few days, trust me.” 

Minho came jogging over from behind and leap onto Newt’s back. “Congrats, klunk! Second-in-command on your second day here!” Newt smiled weakly, still quite confused about the whole turn of events. A nagging thought at the back of his head also felt sorry for Gally, and he hoped that Gally and him would still be able to get along well. “Thanks, guys,” Newt softly muttered. 

“Aw, come on! Don’t tell me you’re not excited about all this!” Minho continued, trying to cheer Newt up. “I am. Just that it is getting late, so we ought to go sleep now. Good night, guys!” Newt waved, before leaving to go wash up and prepare for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m sorry if the whole “Newt-becomes-Second-in-command” seems too rushed but HEY! IT’S NEWT!


	6. A Runner, Maybe

For the next 12 hours after waking up, Newt went about trying other jobs that Alby offered around the Glade. He spent the morning helping Frypan at the kitchen making more stew for lunch. Newt stirred the gooey dark liquid, bubbles of boiling stew bursting at the surface and staining the kitchen. His arm was sore from the repeated movement and he put down the long ladle.

“Keep stirring, shank. No slacking, or we’ll be getting burnt stew for lunch. Not beef stew,” Frypan chided from the other end, waving a spatula at Newt. “So that’s what you put in there, huh? Why so secretive, Frypan?” Newt asked, wriggling his eyebrows. Frypan froze for a while, before continuing with a sigh. “Just take it that I tell you what I put in there only because you are the Second-in-command over here.”  

Newt ended up burning the bottom of the stew because he got distracted by a lamb that ran out from its small fenced-up area. “I told you, Newt. Keep stirring or you’ll have burnt stew. And great. We do have burnt stew now,” Frypan sighed, trying to salvage the last remnants of the stew by throwing in more potatoes to cover up the smell.

Obviously, the Gladers weren’t impressed by Newt’s stew, and Gally made a big deal about it. “You expect me to eat burnt stew?! Alby! This shank can’t do anything. Why is he even Second-in-command?” His words hurt Newt. Gally couldn’t possibly be angry at Newt just because of a partially burnt stew.

“Come on, Gally. It’s only Newt’s third day here. Be a little more gentle on him, please,” Alby reminded. Gally sighed in frustration, then dunked his metal spoon back into the thick stew. Droplets of stew splattered out and landed on the grass, frustrating Newt.

“Okay, Gally. I apologise for the stew. I’m not that great a cook, and I won’t ever go near the kitchen again. But you don’t have to act all childish over food, right? If you want, we’ve got potatoes in the kitchen,” Newt offered. Gally declined Newt’s offer with a curt wave of his hand, then stood up with his bowl of stew that he had barely touched.

“That’s just a waste of good stew,” Frypan said with a straight face.

After lunch, Newt continued exploring the other jobs, helping Clint the Med-jack out. Clint was trying to bandage Winston’s leg after he had accidentally cut himself while slicing some meat. There was a deep red gash on his thigh as the Med-jack pressed a piece of cloth on it, applying pressure.

“Newt, get me the alcohol, please,” Clint instructed. “What are you gonna do with it, clean the wound?” Newt asked, concerned. “Yeap. It should be in the box on the second shelf.”

“Don’t you have antiseptic cream? Alcohol on wounds bloody hurt, you know?” But Clint insisted and Newt could only relent. He headed to the wooden cupboard and brought out a small bottle of alcohol. Clint screwed the cap off and poured a little on a new piece of cloth, bringing it to Winston’s thigh. A droplet of alcohol fell on the open wound, and Winston screamed at the sharp pain.

“Stop being such a shank. It’s just a drop, Winston,” Clint scolded. Winston bit on his lip to hold in the pain as Clint rubbed the wet cloth on the red gaping hole. Winston’s acne-covered face was already pale as he tried to bear with the acute pain.

“Clint,” Newt warned. Clint made no sign of stopping. “Clint, you’re hurting him.” Newt urged. Clint finally stopped his cleaning and looked up at Winston’s face.

“Oh,” Clint said dumbly. “Winston, are you alright, shank?” Winston could barely reply. “Could- could you just bandage it up? It stings.” Clint gingerly covered the wound, and the two left Winston to rest alone.

“So shank, you do have some medical knowledge, huh? Wanna be a Med-jack? We could make use of you around here,” Clint suggested.

Newt thought about it, and decided that it wouldn’t be a very interesting job. There weren’t that many injured people in the Glade anyway. “I’m not so sure, Clint. I don’t think I am very keen on being a med-jack,” Newt replied.

“Oh wells, that’s your loss then. I hope you’ll come and help out some time though.” The two said their goodbyes, then they dispersed.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Newt was finished with Clint. He strolled around the Glade, waving at Alby as he passed by. His eyes wandered over to the tall cracking walls, a wide gap between 2 of the walls, one at each side of the Glade. _I guess the Maze is behind this._

Just as he reached the large opening of the Maze, Minho dashed out, startling Newt. “Sup, Newt!” The boy greeted with a brief wave, not even bothering to turn around. He hurried off to the dark forests, heavy pants audible from where Newt was standing.

Curious, Newt silently followed the Asian boy into the forest, his long legs allowing him to keep up with Minho’s fast pace. His light padding on the dry fallen leaves in the forest caught Minho’s attention just as he was about to enter the Map Room. Minho whipped around, shocked that there was someone following him.

“What the hell, Newt! You can’t just follow me like this and not tell me! You scared the klunk out of me!” Minho grabbed his chest exaggeratedly, as if he had a heart attack.

Newt chuckled at the sight, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry! I was just curious. What’s in there anyway?” Newt asked, peering over Minho’s shoulder.

“Erm... I shouldn’t be telling anyone about this besides Alby, but I guess you can be an exception, shank. Because of the ‘Second-in-command’ title. It’s the Maze Room. It’s where I map out the whole Maze and try to find a way to escape.”

“The _whole Maze_!” Newt repeated, astonished. “The Glade is big enough, how do you map out an entire Maze?”

Minho smirked. “You seem pretty interested, huh? Come, follow me.” Minho lead Newt into the Map Room. Inside, there was a large chest pushed towards the corner, a table beside the chest with a tall stack of paper and a container with some stationery. But what surprised Newt was a large 3D model of the Maze made out of twigs. It wasn’t completed; There was a rough shape of the Glade in the middle with a much larger square around it and half of the Maze had already been mapped out. It wasn’t anything grand, but Newt was awed by the place.

“I built this room on my own!” Minho introduced proudly. “Well Gally helped me a little around here. But it wasn’t much. Just a little securing of the roof,” he briefly added. “In the Chest there, there are maps of the Maze. I’ve been making them for the past two months.”

“How big is the Maze?” Newt whispered, amazed at how Minho was able to do everything on his own for two months.

“That baby?” Minho asked, raising an eyebrow. “That Maze extends all the way out, at least 8 times the size of the Glade. The entire place is almost like a square with the Glade in the middle, surrounded by 8 sections.”

Newt felt a strong urge somewhere at the pit of his stomach to join Minho and be a Runner with him. “How do I become a Runner?” Newt inquired.

“Oh Newt, you think this is some sort of club that needs registration?” Minho laughed a hearty laugh. “You can become one any time. Even tomorrow. It’s about time someone actually comes and helps me. Just ask Alby about it, see what he says."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Should I still add titles to the chapters? I’m starting to think that it may become a spoiler for the chapter...


	7. Becoming a Runner

“Minho, you sure about this? That Shank’s just joined us for 3 days, and you already want to make him a runner?” Alby clarified.

“Shank’s got nice long legs, and I could use another Runner. It’s shucking hard to have to explore the whole Maze on my own,” Minho interjected.

Alby and Gally gave him weird stares. “Minho, that was so gay,” Gally scoffed and retired to the Homestead. “Fine. It’s up to you. But if there is a single scratch on this Greenie when he comes back from the Maze, you’re spending a day in the Slammer. I won't even care if you are a Runner or not.”

Backing away from Minho, Alby retreated to the Deadheads, cursing everything for landing him in charge of all this klunk. Newt thought, what a strange world he lived in. Little did he know, this was but a minor side effect of eating Frypan’s Tuesday stew. Minho gave Newt a sly smirk and wriggled his eyebrows before slipping off.

* * *

 A hideous face popped out in front of Newt face. "Morning, Newt!" Minho announced, smiling at him, teeth and all.

"What the bloody hell, Minho?! Go comb your hair! Gosh you look bad!" Newt whined. "You're gonna bring me into the Maze today?" He asked.

 "Of course! Just meet me outside the Map Room in 15 minutes. I've got something to show you."

 Sure enough, Minho came running to the Map Room 15 minutes later, 2 backpacks hung on his shoulders and 2 knives at the sides of his belt. “One backpack and one knife for you,” Minho offered. “Frypan’s packed lunch and extra food for us in there in case we got hungry while running. We will be travelling light, so we aren’t loading up on water. Hope you can last without much of it.”

 As they walked towards the tall stone doors to wait for them to open, Minho briefed Newt about what to expect.

 “Ok, Newt, today is your first day of being a Runner. In the morning, you’ll come to me to receive your assignment, then, when the doors open, we run. Come back before the doors close, map your section, and if you survive, we do it all over again the next day. Today, you’ll be following me, but eventually you’re going to have to run alone, got it?” Minho explained.

 Newt nodded, and just as the doors creaked open, Minho and him dashed off deep into the Maze. Minho’s method of being able to get back was what he had called ‘The Hansel and Gretel’ technique. He would hack off a piece of vine and leave it behind every time he rounded a new corner. Newt made a mental note to do this when he started running alone.

As Newt ran, he felt as if this was what he was meant to do. Run this place that Minho had said was a maze. Find a way out. It was as if it were destiny, if he had one at all. They stopped at a dead end, Minho and Newt panting after running for at least an hour according to Minho’s digital watch. They settled down for a break, Newt instantly opening his bottle and gulping it down thistily.

“Slow it down, Newt. We’ve only run an hour, so save your water,” Minho advised, nibbling a bit of beef jerky that he found in his backpack. “How do you feel about this whole running? You like this, shank?”

Newt was indeed satisfied with being a Runner. To him, it was more interesting that staying in the Glade and doing the same thing everyday. In the Maze, he had no idea what new things he would find. All the stone walls had their mysteries, waiting for Minho and Newt to discover them.  This happened every day, with Minho and Newt leaving the Glade once the Doors opened. Newt would be awake early in the morning everyday, way before the Doors were supposed to open.

* * *

 A month later, a new Greenie came. His name was George, and soon Minho and Newt got another Runner. George proved to be a valuable Runner as he was fast and had good memory. The three of them came up with a new plan of splitting the 8 sections of the Maze amongst the 3 of them. Mapping the Maze became much easier and faster, and everything seemed to get better, until a couple of weeks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for that bit of nonsensical “Minho-the-Gay” thing on top XD.  
> Also just to clear up some problems about my fic (questions are from a guest who gave me a review)  
> 1\. I did read the entire TMR trilogy (TMR and TST and TDC only, haven’t read TKO yet) and I am using it as reference, so there might be some similarities in the dialogues which I apologise for.  
> 2\. WHOOPS! I didn’t know that the Slammer was there when the Gladers came. Might have missed that point in the book.   
> 3\. Yeap I know that Newt was one of the original Gladers who came up with the bunch of 30 or so other boys, and I really wanted to rewrite the fic but I didn’t really have any idea on how to start the whole organisation of the Glade. Sorry!  
> 4\. I’m not quite sure about Frypan and his kitchen, but my guess is that he probably needed someone to help him out because cooking for 30 boys is quite a tough job. He might have banned anyone from entering his kitchen after something like a fire started...?  
> So yeah! Thanks for all the reviews and comments so far! Love you shanks~ <3


	8. George gets stung

The Maze held many mysteries and secrets, all waiting to be cracked and explored. 

One of which was the strange whirring sounds and the metal clanking noises that came from deep within the Maze. 

Another was the large stone doors that closed shut every night. Why would the Maze have to close? So that the Runners had less time to explore the Maze? Was it to protect them? Protect them from the strange sounds in the Maze that echoed through the darkness of the night? Or from getting lost in the terrifying darkness? Was there even anything dangerous out there in the Maze at night? 

The last one was about the moving walls. George had discovered that every night, the humongous stone walls in the Maze would move and change positions. One day the third turn would be to the right, but the next day, it would be to the left. This had made mapping the Maze harder, but also much more important as it could have been some sort of a clue. 

The three Runners kept on exploring their own allocated sections of the Maze, sprinting back to the Map Room immediately after returning to map it out every day. This continued for 2 weeks, Minho, Newt and George running back from the Maze every evening, their faces flushed and blood filled with adrenaline. 

On one fateful day, however, George did not return at his normal time. Minho and Newt had already finished mapping their section for the day and stacked their sheets neatly into 8 piles, one for each section. They sat in the Map Room, waiting for George to come dashing in. 15 minutes passed. 30. 45. 

“Oh come on, George!” Minho sighed, exasperated. “You think he found an exit, Newt?” Newt shrugged his shoulders. “Well I do hope that bloody shank did, but he had better not escape without us. Let’s go find him,” he suggested. 

The two jogged slowly to the West Door where George had entered through in the morning. As they approached, their hearts thudded harder, a strange feeling bubbling in their stomachs. “Something feels wrong, Minho. The dangerous kind of wrong,” Newt frowned, staring far into the seemingly endless Maze, dust in the Maze making everything in front of them blurry. 

A few moments later, there was the familiar whirring sound, and it seemed dangerously close. Newt could barely make out the small yet muscular physique of George as he made a turn from the left. His backpack was bouncing loosely on his shoulders, blood seeping from his left shoulder through the thin shirt he wore. Behind him, was a monster Newt had never seen before. A big black robotic mutant with sharp metal claws, its body slimy and wet, wobbling with every threatening step it took. 

Its sharp metal claws hit against the concrete, and George was barely able to dodge them. At that same moment, the Doors began to close, the metal gears at the sides creaking against each other. Newt and Minho stood rooted to the grass outside the Maze, wanting to help George but at the same time fearing the dreadful monster. 

Alby, Gally, Zart, Winston and Clint gathered around, drawn by George’s high shrieks and pleads for help. No one, however, dared to help him. “Come on, shank! Get rid of the backpack and run! You can make it!” Minho shouted from the Glade as George quickened his pace, his face contorting from the pain at his shoulder. The opening in the Doors narrowed even more as George ran nearer, the metal creature not far behind. With a burst of speed, George sprinted at full speed, eyes wide with fear and face pale. He was barely able to make it past the Doors as the creature was about to reached the Glade. The doors slammed shut, crushing the monster as a long sharp needle shot out and pierced George, bright green liquid injected into his back. 

George slumped forward and fell onto the floor, his body convulsing violently for several seconds, before become still. “Clint! Clint, help!” At Newt’s words, Clint snapped out from his momentary shock, quickly going to George’s side to check his pulse. “Heartbeat is pretty weak, but he is alive,” he reported. “Get him back to the Homestead fast. Make sure he doesn’t die,” Alby instructed. Winston helped Clint carry George, the two dragging George’s lifeless body along. 

“What the shuck was that?!” Gally screamed, pointing at the mess of squashed metal at the Door. “We have no idea. Whoever put it here is definitely trying to kill us,” Alby answered, worriedly playing with his fingers. 

“I’m quite sure those are the things that come out at night. I heard the whirring and clicking sounds, just like those noises that come from the Maze at night. Maybe that’s why they close the Doors at sunset. To protect us from them, maybe,” Minho said.

“Alright everyone, we’ll discuss this tomorrow. Right now, lets go back for dinner, if anyone can even stand eating after seeing what happened to George,” Alby announced. Disgruntled noises came from the rest of the Gladers as they trudged back with heavy hearts. Newt felt disturbed from what he had just witnessed. He decided to abandon dinner and headed straight up to the Homestead to check on George.


	9. Is he fine?

“How is he, Clint?” Newt whispered as he entered, not wanting to disturb George lest he was sleeping. Clint turned around suddenly, shocked by Newt’s voice. “Oh, hi there, Newt,” Clint greeted, visibly relaxing. “George here is fine. He has been sleeping since Winston and I put him here.”

Just then, George bolted up from the bed, muttering a bunch of incoherent words. Newt could barely make out the words “impossible”, “escape” and “trapped”, a sense of impending doom washing over Newt. _It is impossible to escape? We are trapped? What the bloody heck does George mean?_

Newt was brought out of his thoughts just as George knocked over a glass of water, the glass hitting the ground and shattering into hundreds of tiny shards. “Nooo!” George screamed, his high-pitched voice echoing through the whole Homestead, and Newt was sure the other Gladers could hear him.

George flailed wildly, his eyes wide, pupils dilated and bloodshot. “Hold him down, Clint!” Newt shouted, grabbing George’s arm and pushing down to the bed by his shoulders. Clint did the same with the other side of George’s body. The thudding of footsteps against wood echoed through the Homestead as Alby bounded up the stairs and flung the door open.

“Alby come help me! Hold his body down; I’ll knock the bloody hell out of him,” Newt ordered. Alby ran over and took over Newt, before Newt straddled George’s body and punched him repeatedly. “I’m sorry, George, this is to protect the safety of yourself and everyone,” Newt apologised under his breath as the sounds of skin against skin filled the room.

George passed out after a few punches, his left cheek bruised. The hard iron grip on his wrist gradually loosened as Alby and Clint inched away from George. “What just happened here?” Alby asked.

“We’re not sure either. Newt just came in for a while and George woke up and started thrashing around. Good thing you came in, if not I have not shucking idea what would have happened,” Clint explained. “I guess you did a good job knocking little George out. He probably won’t wake up for the next half a day, I hope.”

“Let’s go sleep, Newt. Clint, are you able to watch over George? I’ll come up halfway through the night to take over,” Alby suggested. “Fine with me. Night, Alby. Night, Newt,” Clint bid farewell to the two leaders as they quietly left.

* * *

George did not make a single sound throughout the entire night, and soon Alby fell asleep after keeping watch for a couple of hours. When the sun rose, Newt came in to check on George before going off to the Maze. What he did see, however, shocked the hell out of him.

George’s face was covered with swollen red bumps, the salmon red contrasting greatly with his pale face. Along his neck, prominent green veins ran through, just like the colour of the liquid the metal monster had injected.   
  
“Alby! Alby wake up! Look at George! He- his skin! Help! Alby is he alright?” Newt asked frantically, shaking Alby awake from his chair. Alby’s eyes immediately snapped open and he hurried over to George’s side. “Clint! Shuck where is he? Clint! Get up here now!” Alby shouted from the entrance of the room. Clint was up in 5 seconds flat, panting as he ran over to see what was going on.

“Oh my klunk. Oh-oh help. Oh dear what is g-going on with him? I-I haven’t seen anything like this!” Clint stuttered, his face pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but the next one’s gonna be fun.


	10. George is gone

“Nooooo! No you can’t do this! Let me go! You can’t escape the Maze! You can’t!” George suddenly shouted from behind. Everyone in the room turned to fine George sitting upright, his eyes bulging and red. His torso jerked backwards violently and he fell back to the bed, before his entire body went into a series of convulsions, the green veins brighter and bigger than ever. Newt, Alby and Clint stood around his bed, unsure of what to do. This went on for minutes before George lay still again, eyes huge and round.

As if possessed, George got up into a seating position, swinging his legs off the bed. “Woah, steady there, George. No need to get out of the bed now. Stay here and rest for a while, I’ll get you something to drink,” Alby said gently, holding George’s arm firmly. With a strength no one knew George possessed, he pushed Alby off, sending him crashing into the cupboard of medical instruments. George took off and sprinted out of the door, down the stairs and towards the Glade.

Newt instantly chased after George, afraid that something bad was going to happen again. He followed George’s screams, cursing under his breath, “Bloody hell. George! Come back!” There was a clamour of noises and chattering down at the Glade, and Newt quickened his footsteps, afraid that George had started attacking one of the Gladers again.

“George! George stop it! You’re hurting me!” Gally’s usually loud and grumpy voice came from not too far away, but this time, there was a slight tone of anxiety and panic. George had Gally’s blond hair held tightly in his right fist, the other wrapped tightly over his throat and pressing him against a tree. 

“You won’t be able to escape the Maze,” George said in a slow, dark airy voice, cackling like a maniac. Gally wriggled and flailed in George’s grasp, but George only tugged harder on his hair, hand stiff on his neck. Gally let out a strangled sound, his face turning pale fast.  

“Let him go, George!” Newt demanded, trying to pry George away. George did not respond, grinning a lopsided smile on his face. “You want to escape this place, don’t you, Gally?” he rasped, face dangerously close to Gally’s. Newt held onto the blotched red arm, pulling with all his might. Alby ran over, and with a lot of tugging, they finally managed to get George off.

Gally collapsed against the tree, panting heavily as Ben the builder and Cint, went over to tend to Gally. “What the shank, George? Why did you attack him for?” Alby exclaimed, holding George firmly by his shoulders. “You can’t escape the Maze,” George repeated again in the same unnerving tone, body slumped towards one side.

“George?” Alby called out, tapping his cheek lightly. George’s bloodshot eyes stared back at Alby, his smirk still plastered on his blotchy face. “Come on, George. Say something. Your name, maybe. Show me that you are still there. Where is the little George that I used to know, huh?” Alby said gently, trying to coax out some sort of reaction from George.

Newt couldn’t bear the sight of one of his fellow Runners in this state. “Oh bloody shuck. I can’t do this,” Newt gasped out, averting his gaze and bending over, hands resting on his knees. “Newt, you alright there?” Minho asked, voice laced with concern. “Come on, shank. Take a break, alright? George’s gonna be fine. Whatever’s doing weird klunk to him, he will be able to fight it, ok? We’ll get our George back.”

But George was uncontrollable. He lashed out at Alby, swiping wildly at his face. “Die!” he screamed, chanting that word over and over again, and Alby knew that whatever was left of George was gone. At the same time, white froth bubbled at George’s mouth, muffling whatever he was trying to say. “Come on, George. Fight it! I don’t know what is inside of you, but you have to resist it!” Alby screamed, getting more desperate.

“We can’t do this anymore, Alby. We’ve got to kill him, or he’ll kill us,” Gally interrupted. Everyone looked at Gally astonished, but a bugging thought at the back of their heads knew that Gally was right. George could not be saved. There was a brief moment of silence that hung between the Gladers as George screamed hysterically, more froth at his mouth.

“Get me some rope. We’ll have to tie him up,” Alby instructed. Winston and Zart went back to the Homestead and came back with a long coil of rope. “We’ll tie him up over at the Deadheads. G-get a spear for me, Minho. Newt, help me get his legs. The rest, follow me.” Newt carried a thrashing George by his legs while Alby got hold of his arms, while the rest of the Gladers followed him.

It took quite a lot of effort to restrain George and get his back to a tree, and it took a lot more to keep him secured there with rope. “If you can hear us, George, I hope you will understand what we are going to do. I’m sorry about this. We have no idea what is going on with you, and I really hate having to kill you. But it is for the sake of the rest of the Gladers. I’m sorry George. Forgive us; we’ll do better next time,” Alby muttered. “Minho, the spear.”

The long wooden rod with the sharp metal end gleamed menacingly under the afternoon sun. George’s screams continued, echoing through the Deadheads. With a stifled explosion of guilt and self-anger, Alby drove the spear right into the middle of George’s body.

The screams were cut off. And George stilled, his eyes wide and empty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey shanks! Sorry for updating this fic late; I forgot all about it yesterday. Anyway, there goes little George :\ Stephen will be up next :)


	11. Goodbye George, Hello Stephen

There was a moment of silence as all the Gladers stood around the tree, looking at George’s lifeless body slumped forward, secured by the thick ropes. The spear was still impaled in his torso, bloody dripping out of the gaping wound.

“We... We’ll give George a proper burial. Make sure that he is remembered for helping us as a Runner,” Alby spoke after a while, his voice cracking at the end. Silently, the Gladers spent the rest of the afternoon digging a hole in the ground somewhere deep in the Deadheads. No one complained about the flies flying around and biting them.

Alby and Newt sat next to a tree with a large wooden plank on their laps. Alby had a knife held tightly in his hand, his eyes wet with tears. He shakily carved out a ‘G’ at the side of the wood, slamming the knife down right after that.  
  
“I can’t. I can’t do this, Newt,” Alby choked up. “I killed him! I shucking killed George! Which leader kills his own people?” Newt put a hand around Alby’s broad muscular shoulders, squeezing it softly in comfort. “But you protected the rest of the Gladers. You made sure no one else will get killed. Let’s just continue what George had started for us, alright? He found something about the Maze. It could help us to escape. You want me to help you with that?” Newt asked, motioning to the knife.

Alby nodded slightly, his face burrowed in his large hands. Newt took the knife and carefully carved out the rest of George’s name. He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, not wanting to make any mistakes with George’s name. This was the very least that George deserved.

By the time Newt was done and Alby had calmed down, the rest of the Gladers had already dug a hole deep and wide enough. Alby planted the wooden headstone at the top of the hole, eyes beginning to water again. Minho and Newt went off to untie George’s body from the tree and pulled the spear out. More bloody dripped from the gaping hole. They got hold of George’s body and carried him towards his grave, slowly lowered him in.

When they were done, everyone got their shovels and scooped the soil back, burying George. The end result was a small mountain of brown dirt bulging up slightly from the ground. “May you rest in peace, George. We’ll finish what you have set out to do, and you will be fondly remembered for your contributions in the Glade,” Alby said in a solemn voice.

With one last look at George’s grave, the Gladers left the Deadheads to resume their activities. However, no one was in the mood to do anything, so Alby had to call it a day off. Dinner that day was earlier than usual, and Frypan had cooked a lot more.

“Frypan, we have one less person, yet you cooked like we were expecting 10 more,” Newt chided, digging into his meal. “Sorry, Newt. It’s just that I somehow cook more when I am upset.” Even Frypan’s usual cheery voice sounded sad and depressed.

As expected, no one had the appetite to finish their dinner, so they left with their half-eaten meals and retired to the Homestead. Lights out was an hour earlier, and though everyone seemed to be asleep, Newt could hear the slight sobbing and whimpers of some of the Gladers. Newt himself was tearing, the loss of a Glader and Runner finally getting into him.

“I’m sorry, George,” Newt whispered to himself. “Gosh, I should have bloody known there was something wrong when you didn’t return in time. I’m such a shank!” He tossed and turned around on the hard wooden floor, and fatigue overwhelmed him a little past midnight.

The next time they Box came back up with new Supplies, Newt found something a little different. There was a box containing little vials of green liquid, similar to the one that the Griever injected into George. Attached to it was a note.

_**May this stop all killing.** _

* * *

The next 2 weeks passed without much things going on, except for the occasional bickering that occurred between Minho and Gally. Their arguments were getting more and more intense as the days went on, but Newt has almost grown immune to them. Gally had also built a rather makeshift toilet. There was some levels of privacy in the small wooden shack, but gosh, that place stank after someone took a klunk.

They would be about petty things that teenage boys should not even be arguing about, such as Gally’s new structure having a gaping hole, or Minho not having any progress with the Maze. But all Newt had to do was to walk past the duo and shoot them an angry glare, effectively shutting them up.

The bell at the Box rang again, signalling the arrival of their weekly supplies and a new Greenie. As Second-in-command, Newt was allowed to come out of the Maze in the middle of the day to see the Greenie. This time, it was a thin scrawny boy with messy greasy hair. His face sported a look of confusion and wonder, just like the previous Greenies.

“Come on, Greenie. Let’s get you out from the Box shall we?” Alby said, jumping into the metal cage. After a small introduction of the Gladers and the Glade, Newt returned to the Maze to continue exploring and mapping it.

When he returned, the Greenie was having an animated chat with the Gladers, and Newt was glad that he was able to get along well with everyone. Newt soon got to learn that the Greenie was very curious and also had many ideas. “What are those clicking sounds?” he asked that night during dinner. No one dared to answer him as they were still quite affected by George’s death. The Greenie was able to pick up the strange atmosphere and quickly muttered a “never mind” under his breath.


	12. Half a Stephen

“No, Greenie. The clicking sounds that you were asking about? We honestly don’t know. But let’s just call them Grievers. Made us bloody sad and depressed for the rest of the month. It killed one of the Gladers here, the one just before you came,” Newt explained.

“Why are they there?” the Greenie asked again. “No one knows. We don’t even know why we are here. Now if you would just shut your trap up and let us eat in peace, it would be terrific,” Gally snapped.

The Greenie quietly went back to eating, eyes darting around nervously. “Don’t mind Gally; he’s been going on like this for a couple of weeks,” Alby said in a comforting voice. Everyone returned to the Homestead when they were done with dinner, and Newt helped the Greenie get ready for bed.  

“Here’s your blanket and pillow. You can lay it out on any space in the Homestead since we’ve still got some room there. Washroom’s in that little shack behind the Homestead and you can just brush your teeth in the middle of the grass, it’s fine. Light’s out will be in about an hour,” Newt instructed.

Life continued as per normal in the Glade, and Newt soon learnt that the Greenie’s name was Stephen. Stephen was tasked to be a Track-hoe and he helped Zart to tend to the plants. Everything seemed mundane and dull, until one day over dinner, Stephen had an idea.

“Can’t we send someone down, the same way the supplies come up?” He suggested. Everyone looked at each other, amazed by Stephen’s idea. Why didn’t I think about it? Newt wondered. “We can try that tomorrow when our supplies come up the Box,” Alby said. “I’ll go. Since I suggested it. In case something bad happens,” Stephen added quickly.

Minho and Newt didn’t bother waking up early the next day to prepare to go off into the Maze. There was no use, afterall. If they had a chance of escaping, what for waste their energy? Everyone sat around the large squarish metal gates, waiting for their supplies to come up the Box. Sure enough, within an hour, the familiar crunching of gears echoed through the hollow tunnel. The Gladers unloaded the supplies before helping George into the Box.

George sat in the metal cage and waited. And waited. And waited. The Box refused to go down even when it reached noon. “That’s funny, Newt said, walking past. “The Box should be going down by now. You think it doesn’t accept humans, Alby?” Alby nodded his head. “Well I guess your idea doesn’t work, Stephen. Come back up, will ya’, shank?”

Stephen lifted his thin body up and rolled out of the Box onto the grass. Within minutes, the cranking of the gears sounded again as the Box descended down the pitch dark hole. “What if we send someone down through the hole? Surely it has to end up somewhere for the bloody supplies to come up,” Newt suggested.

Everyone peered down the hole, chills running down their spines. They couldn’t see the bottom. What if there wasn’t one? Newt knew it wouldn’t be possible. But he didn’t know how deep it was, or whether there would be anything at the bottom waiting to eat him.

“Which shank’s gonna go down there, Newt. That hole is shucking deep and dark,” Gally commented

“I’ll go again. Since I’m the Greenie, and I was the one who suggested the idea. No one will miss me even if something bad does happen to me, right?” Stephen voiced out, and everyone instantly felt bad about it. But Stephen had a point. If anyone was to go down, it would be him. They couldn’t risk any of the older Gladers dying.

“Get me one of those little glass lamps, Clint. Gotta make sure the shank can see down the hole,” Alby said. Clint dashed off and returned shortly with the said item. Meanwhile, Alby, Newt, Minho and Gally went off to find a piece of ivy. They got one thick and strong enough to support Alby’s weight, and Newt climbed up to cut it off, the long green plant falling smack onto Gally’s unfortunate face.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you, shank?” Gally burst out in anger. “How do you expect me to be able to tell where the shuck vine would land?” Minho screamed from the top. Another bicker started. “Stop the bloody bickering, would you shanks? Maybe it will be good idea to leave you guys here. What for save someone who can’t even behave for a single moment?” Newt interjected in annoyance.

The two shut up immediately as Alby coiled the ivy up, hauling it back. The other three plodded along, Newt pulling Gally and Minho by their arms. Dragging the vine behind him, Alby looped it tightly around Stephen’s arms and his waist, and tied a dead knot at the end of it.

“Don’t worry about dropping, Stephen. We’ve got the strongest you can find in the Glade here, and the ivy should be good enough to support your weight without breaking. We’ll give you a torch so you can see. If you find the bottom, tell us, alright?” Alby instructed. Then, they lowered Stephen down into the shaft slowly, Newt, Alby, Gally, Minho and Winston pulling on the ivy.

“Are you alright there, Stephen?” Newt called out from above.

“It’s quite dark here, but I think I see some lights. Could you lower me down a little more?” Stephen replied, his voice echoing up. The others heaved and let the ivy loose a little more, feeling a tug on the vine.

“Hey guys! I think I see the bot-” But Stephen did not finish his sentence, as there was a sound of metal scraping against each other, followed by a light shatter of glass echoed deep down the hole. There wasn’t a tug on the vine.

“Quick, get him up!” Newt shrieked, frantically pulling on the vine. Everyone glanced at the end of the vine as Stephen’s body emerged into view. But it wasn’t what they had expected.

In front of them, was the torso of a body, swinging and turning slowly. Sharp bones from the ribs protruded out from the bottom, with what seemed to be a collapsed lung poking out. Bloody was dripping from the large cavity in thick gooey clumps, gushing out at random intervals. A piece of flesh hung dangerously by a thread of tissue, as though it would fall off any second.

Stephen’s shirt was soaked through, blood seeping upwards to his collar. His face was rapidly losing its colour, turning from the usual healthy pink to a pale deathly white. His mouth hanging wide, as though it was caught in a scream. But his eyes. His usual happiness in his eyes were gone, replaced with an unfocused look, as if he was staring far, far away.

The body was... in half.

And all they were left with was half a Stephen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And there goes Stephen :'(


	13. The Attempt

It was too much for him. Just a year ago, he woke up with absolutely no memory of his past, the only thing he knew was his name. The first few days were fine, but after George and Stephen had died, he had sobbed and cried hysterically. Every night, he would have bad nightmares of George and Stephen’s deaths, sometimes simple ones with George getting stabbed or Stephen’s body hanging in half.

But other times, it got worse when he had voices in his head. Most of them were Stephen’s, telling him how he wouldn’t be dead if Newt had not suggested going down through the hole. Newt would wake up on those nights in a tight ball, clinging on tightly to the thin blanket that barely provided any comfort and screaming. He would try to suppress his sobs, but Alby or Minho would would have already been woken up by his screams, a comforting arm slung over in feeble attempts to calm the boy down.

Newt could tell his constant nightmares and screams had an effect on the wellbeing of all the Gladers, especially Alby and Minho. He caught Alby pouring his cup of ginger-slash-alcohol into the stew during dinner, then clanking his spoon into the empty cup. Another day, when all the Runners gathered in the Map Room to draw out their sections, Minho fainted when he was about to leave for the Homestead and couldn’t go running the next day.

Newt felt guilty for all the trouble he had caused, and he was frustrated that he had no idea how to get himself out of this nightmare. He was certain it was impossible. 12 months, and not even a single hint and hope that they would be able to escape. He had witnessed two of his fellow Gladers die in just two months, and he could no longer bear the pain of it, especially with the thought that he was the one who caused Stephen to die 

The small bug-like creatures that crawled around the Glade scared him too. The Gladers had called them Beetle Blades, and Newt had no idea what made them come up with that name. WICEKD. That was what was printed on their backs in a dull shade of red, as if it was written with blood. The little creatures scuttled around, sometimes watching them from the ceiling of the Homestead.

Watching? More like spying. But what bugged Newt for the longest time was who they were spying for. The people who put them here? The thought itself was sickening. Newt could almost imagine a bunch of adults crowded around screens, cackling menacingly whenever a Glader got injured 

Newt hated every single day in the Glade. And what is easier than simply killing himself?

It wasn’t hard. A stab in his chest with one of the many sharp knives that lined the weapon room would kill him. Or he could hide out in the Maze and wait for a Griever to come find him at night. _No. That would be too obvious. Alby would know, and he would come find him even before the Grievers would come out at night._

He stared up at the thick ivy-covered stone walls surrounding the Glade, carefully planning his suicide. He would climb until halfway up the wall. Yes that would be high enough to kill him. No one would suspect anything if he went into the Maze. He was a Runner after all. And all Runners had their specific Sections to explore. _Great. Even Minho wouldn’t know._

Newt scribbled a note to leave to the Gladers. For Alby, for Minho, even for Gally. A note of apology to the friends he made during this short 6 months. An apology for not being a leader, for giving up halfway and leaving the responsibility of taking care of the Gladers to Alby. Newt slipped the note into his pocket, before leaving the Homestead with a heavy heart, his backpack feeling heavier than ever, despite the lack of food and water. _Better not to waste them if I am going to die today anyway._

All Runners were to report back at the Glade by 5 just to be sure that no one would be trapped in the Maze overnight. There was a two hour period between the Runners’ return and when the Doors closed for the night. At 4.30, Newt made his way to the deepest part of the Maze, far away from the Doors. The ivy hung thick and dense, perfect for climbing. Newt dropped his backpack, grabbed one sturdy ivy branch and tugged on it, testing its strength. He pulled himself up while finding footing in the walls, the unevenness making great stepping holes 

Slowly, Newt climbed up the wall, hauling with all his might to prevent falling off even before reaching the middle of the wall. He turned around, glancing at the hard concrete floor 20 feet below him. He gulped at the frightening thought of actually dying, but he reassured himself that that would be much better than having to live in the Glade, not knowing about his future. _It’s fine, Newt. Alby is well capable of taking care of the Gladers. Minho will be fine. He's a great leader. He can take care of the Runners._

Newt hung onto the strong ivy branch with one sweaty hand, his other reaching into his pocket to get the note. _Goodbye, Alby. Goodbye, Minho. Thank you for being my friends._ Newt closed his eyes, picturing the peaceful life he would have, one without constant worry and fear. He leaned back, resting his entire weight on the ivy. Newt slowly loosened his grip on the ivy, feeling himself slowly slip down the green branch, before releasing his grip totally, his heart pounding fiercely into his chest, waiting for the impending death, his hastily scribbled note still clutched tightly in his fist.

His feet hit the hard ground first, the sudden impact sending waves of pain through his legs and up his spine, before the rest of his body crumpled beneath his weak legs, the sudden sharp pain making him lose consciousness quickly. Not far away, he heard someone call out his name. _It isn’t anyone, Newt. It’s just your blood rushing through your ears._ There was a light tap on his face and a tug on his arms, but he could no longer tell reality from imagination as his vision blurred and distorted as he blacked out.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So just to take a break from this (hopefully) angsty chapter, I really apologise for some similarity between HWF and this fic. HWF is written by my friend and we actually discussed (rather casually) about the series of pre-thomas events. It was really coincidental that the chapters with George and Stephen’s deaths in HWF and this fic were posted around the same time (and we were honestly really amused by it). This is the last chapter that the events will be similar, and things will start to get a little more different from the next chapter onwards ;)
> 
> Thank for spending your time to read both HWF and Subject A5, and for giving us so many encouraging reviews ^^


	14. The attempt

Newt felt himself on a hard and rough material, soft murmurs around him, and an excruciating pain on his leg. If this is what they call ‘after life’, it isn’t that good. He tried to open his eyes, turn his head, raise an arm, even twitch a finger. Anything to see what was around him. He got tired after a while and slipped back into his black, isolated world.

* * *

A warm hand was on his leg, raising it occasionally while he felt a force tightening around it. That leg still stung badly, the pain almost sending him back to that void, but Newt was able to bear with it. He let out a groan, the act itself already making his throat painful. He heard someone calling his name. “Newt. Newt, can you hear me?” Alby.

Newt forced his eyes open, the sudden brightness around him stunning him momentarily. He shut his eyes tightly, before slowly opening them. “Oh thank you. Gosh, Newt you bugging scared me! I- I thought you were dead!” So I am not dead. Newt felt a deep sense of disappointment, like a heavy stone in his chest. But when he glanced to his left, he saw the muscular figure of his leader. He had his arms rested on his knees, head bent and staring blankly at Newt. Newt observed that Alby’s eyes were puffy and red around the edges. The disappointment he originally felt was replaced with regret. Regret that he had hurt Alby so badly. He could only imagine how much more pain Alby was in when he first saw the state he was in.

“I’m sorry, Alby,” Newt croaked out, he himself beginning to tear up, “I- I can’t continue living like this. This whole maze. This running around, looking for a way to escape. It’s driving me mad, Alby. Every day, I wake up thinking to myself that the whole burden of having to find a way out of this bloody Maze rests on me. That as a Runner, I am in charge of our entire bloody escape.” Newt was already panting heavily, his face soaked with his tears. Alby sat forlornly beside the bed. He gently brought a hand up to run his fingers through Newt’s blond hair, muttering soft words of comfort. It took some time for Newt to calm himself down, letting out occasional sobs.

“But... But how did you find me?” Newt finally asked, glancing at Alby’s large figure. There was a moment of silence, before Alby answered, “You weren’t back at 5. Minho told me, and I went into your Section to look for you. Minho helped too, but when I found you, you- your leg was bent awkwardly, and there was blood. Lots of blood. Even more than what Winston has in the Bloodhouse.” Alby tried to lighten the mood, but could only manage a weak chuckle. “I quickly brought you back here. We barely managed to get you past the Doors before they closed, and Minho was flustered and panicking. The Medjacks fixed your leg. They said that it was badly fractured, shattered even."

“Why did you even save me? One less bloody person to take care of, one less bloody mouth to feed, one less bloody person to make everything around the Glade worse. Why would you even risk going into the Maze just before the Doors close? You could have died!” Newt was getting angry. He wanted to die. But Alby just had to take what he wanted away from him. Things around the Glade be the same, if not worse. With a shattered leg that would probably take a very long time to heal, there was no use Alby saving him from the Maze.

“I couldn’t just abandon you there, Newt. You are my friend. I need you. Here as my Second-in-command. The Gladers need you around when I can't be. The Runners need you to help them with the escape. And I need you, Newt. Promise me you won’t ever do such a shucking dumb thing again. I can’t run the Glade without you."

Alby’s tone was enough to make Newt forget about killing himself. He couldn’t stand seeing the usually grumpy Alby in such a broken state, and he swore never to make him sad by killing himself. He wrapped his pinky around Alby’s outstretched one, not knowing exactly what that action meant. But it seemed so natural to both of them, and it comforted Alby, knowing that he would never have to worry about suddenly losing Newt.

“Where is Minho?” Newt asked, not wanting to talk about this matter anymore. “He should be here soon. The Runners just got back. Go rest for a while, Newt.” Alby gently replied. Newt let sleep overtake him, and when was about to fall into another dreamless sleep, when the door opened.

"Newt what the shuck was your shuck-brain thinking, huh? Trying to jump off the walls? Do you really think that is a good idea? A good way to escape from all this? You were the one who kept telling us to stay strong and to have hope. And look at you know. You almost died. On purpose, I must add." Standing by the corner of the bed was Minho, hot tears streaming down his face, obviously beyond livid. Alby quickly went over and muttered something to Minho. He sighed, then paused for a moment, leaning against the wall while pinching the bridge of his nose. Newt simply stared at his blanket while picking at it, waiting for Minho to calm down. There was a long pregnant silence, before Minho broke it.

“But are you alright?” The anger on Asian boy’s face was replaced with worry and concern. "Yeah. My leg feels bad though," Newt replied, looking down at his heavily bandaged leg. "Do you think you are still able to run?" Minho breathed out. "I guess that is the end of being a Runner," Newt announced. “Now I would appreciate it if I could have some time to myself.”


	15. Newt gets better

Within a few weeks, Newt’s leg was good enough for him to get out of bed and walk short distances with someone supporting him. Usually it would be Alby, as he was the only one in the Glade who was free. Alby called for a meeting in the Homestead for all the Gladers shortly after Newt could walk to discuss some new rules.

“So this is basically to make some adjustments to the original 2 rules. They will still be implemented, but I figured that I should add on 1 more after what happened to Newt. I’d like to ban anyone, besides the Runners of course, from going into the Maze. Of course, many of you would already be scared of the Maze after what happened to George. And frankly, if you ain’t scared, you ain’t human. Newt’s case in the Maze might happen again, and I really don’t want any of you dead. Any of you shanks got any strong objections? If not I’ll make this rule official. Which means that anyone who breaks it will receive punishment.”

Newt lowered his head in embarrassment and guilt, feeling bad that he was the one who caused this rule to be made. But for some reason, Newt felt a sense of security. He knew that no one would dare to ever go into the Maze and risk getting stung by a Griever or worse still, die and not be found.

“What sort of punishment, Admiral Alby?” Gally challenged, his tone snotty and arrogant.

“Oh my klunk, Gally will you just stop being such a snarky brat for one second,” Minho cried out in annoyance.

“Well, Captain Gally, maybe a day in the Slammer you made. Might be worse, depending on the severity of the situation,” Alby replied calmly, though there was a tone of annoyance in his voice. “Any other words?” No one said anything, and Alby dismissed everyone after finalizing the decision.

Newt recovered well, and soon he could walk like normal, though his left leg gave him a slight limp, a dull ache lingering. He spent his day doing easy and light tasks, such as helping Zart and the Track-hoes at the Gardens, or helping Frypan prepare dinner. Alby would tag along sometimes, occasionally glancing over at Newt to check on him.

“Are you feeling alright, Newt?” Alby asked when he saw Newt wince after exerting too much pressure on his leg.

“I guess so, this bloody leg hurts. I kinda regret jumping off. Should have done something else, maybe fling myself down the hole, or stab myself. Now this leg just makes every shucking thing thousand times worse,” Newt joked.

Alby shot him a death glare. “Don’t you even try doing that. You promised me you won’t kill yourself, so don’t you dare go back on your words.”

“Don’t worry, shuckface. I won’t ever do that,” Newt said, giving Alby a light bump on his side.

“Hey, Newt! Look what I found from the supplies this week!” Frypan chuckled from behind while running towards them, his apron flapping with every step he took. Newt turned to give Frypan a curious glance. Dramatically turning around, Frypan whipped out a bottle of what seemed like chocolate mousse, or was it jam?

“It’s.... wait for it. NEWTELLA!” Frypan quipped, holding the bottle in the air. Newt stared at Frypan for a while, trying to process the joke. He studied the bottle, squinting.

“Quite sure the bottle says Nut-ella,” Alby deadpanned.

There was a brief pause as Newt stared right into Frypan’s eyes, an unamused expression his face as he resisted the urge to plant his palm firmly on his nose. “Newtella, Newt! Don’t you get it? NEWTELLA!” Frypan practically screamed into Newt’s face, a stupid grin adorning his face.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You turned me into food?”

Frypan stammered, “Well... why… You seemed pretty sad these days, I was hoping this would make you laugh or something.”

A smile curled up at the corners of Newt’s lips as he caught Frypan in a big warm hug, his long arms wrapping around Frypan’s snuggly body.

“You shanks aren’t gonna include me?” Alby said grumpily.

Newt reached his arm out, pulling Alby towards him, “Come here, Alby.”

“EH! BOJIO!” Minho shouted from across the Glade, sprinting over, a wide smile on his face as his eyes curved up into tiny crescents. He dropped his bag a few feet away from the East Door and bolted over, and Newt could see a sheen of sweat on the asian boy’s forehead. Soon, all the gladers, even Gally, crowded around Newt, crushing him in the biggest hug Newt found himself in.

“Don’t feel sad anymore, Newt. We’re all here for you, ‘kay?” Alby whispered, ruffling Newt’s hair through the mess of sticky smelly bodies of teenage boys. “Alright guys, let’s get off Newt or he’ll really die getting suffocated by all you shanks. Frypan should be ready with dinner soon, so you may go off and relax if you are done with your tasks for the day.”

That night, for the first time in a long while, Newt slept peacefully without any nightmares, and he found a reason to continue living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologise for Minho’s use of bad Singlish (yes I am from Singapore) even though he is Korean but I typed that in by instinct and I couldn’t bear to remove it. By the way, “bojio” means something like “why didn’t you invite me”. The more you know I guess.


	16. Gally gets stung

Nothing especially interesting happened for the many months to follow. Each month, a new Greenie would come up the Box and would get his job in a week or so. Minho got many new Runners - 16 in total, just enough for them to be able to travel in pairs and explore all the different sections. As the Keeper of the Runners, Minho made what he called the “Runner’s Code” which he proudly wrote out and nailed to the wall of the Map Room.

  1. Never stop running

  2. Always be alert

  3. Bring back hope.




Number 1 and 2 were fulfilled everyday, and none of the Runners were trapped or badly injured in the Maze, apart from that one time when a shank ran straight into the wall and broke his nose. Number 3, however, was never fulfilled. 

Every day, when the sun was about to set 2 hours before the Doors closed, the Runners assembled in the Map Room to draw out the day’s pattern of the Maze. Newt was always there to keep track of the progress of the Runners and voice out any suggestions. Minho frequently discard the drawings, claiming that they were “klunk scribbles that he could not shucking read”. Soon enough, the Runners learnt that it was best to do a good job the first time round to be able to have their dinner fast.

“How ‘bout you compare the maps with the previous days? Maybe with those from a week back? There should be a pattern,” Newt suggested one evening. All the Runners gave moans of exhaustion, but a quick glare from Minho shut them up. “Newt’s Second-in-command. We’ll listen to him and do what he says.” 

They all gathered around the large wooden table, each pair with a small stack of 14 maps from their own sections. There was a pattern indeed. The movement and shifting of the walls completed a cycle every 7 days, and repeated every week.  
  
“So... what are we supposed to do with this, now that we know there is a pattern which repeats every week? It doesn’t mean anything, Newt,” a Runner commented. Newt could only look down in disappointment.

“I’m sorry, everyone. Go and clean up, then have your dinner,” he apologised. Everyone filed out, but Minho stayed behind.

“Don’t worry about that shank, Newt. At least now we know there is a reason why the walls move. It’s a pattern. Maybe one day we’ll be able to figure it out,” Minho encouraged. “Come on, let’s go eat. I feel shucking sticky and gross.”

“Sure, I’m bloody hungry myself. And you stink worse than the pigs!” Newt joked.

Weeks passed since that day, then months, and soon, 2 years had passed since Newt arrived in the Glade. Still, there was nothing new. The pattern that they found out didn’t seem to mean anything. One afternoon over lunch, Gally had another of his little tempers. 

“Do we even have any hope of escaping this shuck place?” he cried out in frustration. 

“Maybe,” Alby said calmly, chewing on his slice of bread.

“Maybe?” Gally repeated, raising his voice. 

“Look, Alby. Be patient, please. Minho and the Runners are trying to find a way to escape. The least we could do is to give them some bloody encouragement,” Newt reasoned, trying not to lose him temper. He himself knew that there was almost no way of escaping, and Gally wasn’t making anything better

“What’s that little slinthead Minho and his gang of Runners even doing? They claim to know everything going on in the Maze, yet they can’t lead us out? They hide something from us and claim that only they are allowed to go into the Maze, especially with what happened to you.  Look, Newt. I’m sick and tired of all these games you shanks are playing. If they can’t get us out, I’ll go in there and look for a way to escape on my own,” Gally finished, banging his fists hard on the table, the plates and utensils rattling. He got up fiercely, almost toppling the flimsy old picnic table.

He took off to the West Door, pushing Alby’s strong arm away. “Gally you bloody shuck face, get your ass back here this instant!” Newt screamed but Gally ignored it. He disappear through the Doors, and a scream followed almost instantly. “Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh,” Alby whispered under his breath.

“Med-jacks!” Newt yelled, dashing as fast as his limp allowed him to. Sure enough, Gally lay face to the ground in the middle of the dark corridor, body almost lifeless. He caught sight of a long metal claw skittle around the corridor.

“I’ll go get him,” Alby said quickly, before dashing in. “Be careful!” Newt yelped in shock, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Gally hadn’t gone that far into the Maze and Alby took less than 2 minutes to get Gally out of the Maze.

There was a round puncture on Gally’s right shoulder that was spurting black blood. Around it, veins branched out like cracks, black and menacing. “He’s been stung,” Newt said. “Med-jacks, get Gally up to the Homestead and make sure he gets the Serum. Tie him down if he gets violent. I’ll come see him soon. 

Clint and Jeff slung Gally’s muscular arms around their shoulders and dragged him off while the other Gladers dispersed. Newt and Alby walked off towards the Homestead together, discussing about what had just happened.

“Alby, did you see anything? The Griever?” Alby shook his head. “I honestly don’t even know what happened. Why would there be a Griever in the middle of the day? We haven’t seen one. At least not the Runners. And it happened right near the Doors. Do you know how dangerous that is, Newt? It could have injured one of the Gladers! Killed him even! Or maybe it could have wrecked up the whole place and whatever we have built for two years. We don’t know,” he stopped to take a deep breath, before shutting his eyes tightly and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Gosh, I don’t even know why I am trying to explain myself. It’s just... I don’t know what to do now. Gally has a point. We’ve been here for more than 2 years, and we still don’t have any idea how to get out of this shuck place. I’m not blaming Minho for it. I’ve seen how that kid runs back with his shirt dirty and wet. I just don’t know if there is even a way out.”

“Don’t worry about it. Gally will get well with the Serum, ok? Maybe after that he’ll gets his memories back, and he’ll find us a way to escape or something.” But Newt himself wasn’t sure about what he had just said. Would the Changing really give them a hint at how to escape?

Gally looked just like all the other Gladers that had been stung: green bulging veins all over his muscular body, raw red welts plaguing his face and arms. His face was contorted in pain, sweat dripping from his forehead. There were occasional incoherent mutters, which escalated into shouts and wild thrashing. Newt, Alby and the med-jacks had to hold Gally down to the flimsy wooden bed and tie him down, which only resulted in more struggling.

Eventually, Gally stopped moving and lay motionless on the bed again, except for the calm steady rise and fall of his chest for every breath he took.

“I guess he should be fine. Clint, Jeff, would you like to go have your lunch? Alby and I can take care of Gally until you get back,” Newt asked. Clint and Jeff nodded and made their way out briskly, leaving Alby, Newt and Gally in the room. The two of them didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything to say anyway. Gally was already stung and quite unconscious, and all they could do was to wait for him to go through the Changing.

For the next few days, there was an air of anxiety hanging around the Glade as everyone waited impatiently for Gally to recover. Gally was shouting strange things the whole time, most of it about how they were trapped and couldn’t escape. Just like what George had said.

Eventually, Gally did get better, but he had also gotten much quieter and crankier. It also turned out that Gally didn’t remember anything that could help them out of the Glade.

He started to develop a strange phobia for water, constantly trying to avoid bathing until 3 days later when everyone in the Glade complained that his stench was unbearable.

With a sudden determination to find a way to escape, Newt started locking himself up in the Map Room for hours. Even if he could no longer run, he could at least make himself useful and find some sort of pattern. He took out the first sheet of paper from each stack, comparing the maps of each section with another. He did the same with the following 6 days, but he didn’t find anything that seemed vaguely close to a pattern.

Frustrated, he went back to working in the Garden with Zart and the rest of the track-hoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such an abrupt ending which I am really sorry for. I'll just admit something kay. I feel so stressed because the next chapter hasn't been completed yet, and I have this really big void in my brain so I have no idea how to continue. Which is really funny, because 2 chapters after this, I have a few chapters which are already written. And then I have the last 6 chapters of this story which have been written like. 2 months ago. Proof-read many times. i should stop rambling and start writing.


	17. Chuck klunked

The familiar grinding of metal and gears echoed through the Glade around noon. Crowding around the Box, the Gladers peered curiously down the dark hole, moving closer and closer until a horrid pungent smell filled their noses. 

“Oh my pie did someone klunk in their pants?!” Frypan exclaimed, absolutely horrified, taking ten paces back while waving his spatula wildly in front of his face. As if that will diffuse the smell, Fry. The small boy standing in the Box looked around frantically, his eyes darting across the Gladers before glancing down to his pants.

“Oops,” he muttered, his curly hair hiding half his face, but there was a clear red blush appearing on his already rosy cheeks.

“Come on, shank. Let’s get you out and cleaned,” Newt said comfortingly, lying beside the Box and wincing at the almost unbearable stench coming from the boy. Curling his finger around his chubby arms, Newt hoisted him up and dragged him out of the Box, earning the Greenie a few scratches from the rusty metal.

As he walked to the Glade, dragging the plump boy behind him, he could hear shouts of annoyance coming from the Gladers as they unloaded the supplies, but most of them revolving around the smell that still lingered.

“Where is this place? And the boys just now; when they said ‘klunked’. What does ‘klunk’ even mean?” the new Greenie asked, turning around frantically as his brown hair bobbed around, almost mirroring his bubbly personality. His voice was quite high-pitched, and Newt guessed that he was 13 at the most, making him the youngest Glader.

“We call it the Glade. We work here, eat here, sleep here; basically live here. Over there, that’s the Homestead. It’s where some of us, mainly the older Gladers, live in. We don’t have much space in there, so Greenies like you have to sleep outside. No worries, there isn’t anything dangerous out in the Glade at night.” In the Glade, Newt had to remind himself. The dangerous ones are out there in the Maze.

“And ‘klunk’ is just the sound that you know, poo makes. When it falls into the pee pot,” Newt tried to explain in the simplest English he could to the young kid. The Greenie giggled when Newt said that, and Newt rolled his eyes, trying to hide his annoyance at the immaturity of the kid.

The two went off to the Homestead to get a large piece of cloth and some rope to make a hammock for the Greenie. For the whole time that Newt was making the hammock, the Greenbean hardly helped, preferring to annoy Newt and prevent him from making the hammock properly.

“Greenie!” Newt warned for the tenth time that day when the new kid fiddled with the end of the fraying rope, and he quickly dropped it with a cheeky grin.

“Why do you even call me Greenie? Actually, why don’t I know my name? The rest call you Newt. Surely I have a name, don’t I?” he asked, looking up at Newt with his large blue eyes that were partially covered by his hair.

Newt shrugged, tugging on the rope to make the knot tighter. “I actually don’t have a bloody clue how we even came up with that term. It just happened to slip off someone’s shuck tongue one day. Don’t worry about your name - it will come back to you by tomorrow. Though some unlucky shank had to wait about 5 days before he finally remembered his name. And there’s your hammock for tonight. We’ve still got some time til’ dinner is ready, so you can wander around,” Lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, Newt crouched down until he was the same height as the young kid.

“You see those walls” Chuck glanced at the marvellous stone surrounding the Glade and nodded. “Go anywhere, except past those walls. Don’t ask what is behind there. The less you know, the better it is for you. Now hurry along; I’ve got some stuff to settle with grumpy old Alby.” Newt lingered around the hammock for a little while, watching the tiny plump frame of the new Greenie hobble off towards the farm.

Sighing loudly, Newt limped off, looking for Alby in the Homestead to help him sort out the new supplies. The day continued normally, and a day progressed into a week, and soon it was half a month since the Greenie came. It turned out his name was Chuck, and right after Chuck had excitedly announced his name, the whole Glade was filled with annoyed groans of his name.

It wasn’t surprising when Newt realised that Chuck had no Glader around him in a 10 meter radius. Everyone avoided him like a plague, especially when they found Chuck wearing that familiar cheeky smile, afraid that they would be a victim to another of his antics. His favourite would be to hide behind the little toilet Gally built and scare them from the tiny rectangular hole, especially when the sun had just set and the Glade was filled with an eerie blood red glow.

Eventually after about a week of testing out different jobs, none of the Keepers wanted to work with Chuck, and Alby had to call the Keepers for a Gathering in the Homestead. He was simply too playful and too childish, but Newt couldn’t really blame the young lad for it. He himself was pretty sure he was a playful child when he was Chuck’s age, but it wasn’t like he could remember how he was like when he was 12.

“Why not just make that shank a Slopper?” Gally scoffed, “We haven’t had anyone helping us clean up all the klunk around the Glade since two months ago when that shank died. What was his name again? Gregory?”

Everyone remained silent, casting glances at each other. Finally, Alby spoke up. “Gally’s idea doesn’t seem that bad, actually. The Glade is starting to stink and get quite dirty, and the rest of the Gladers have their own things to do. Anyone has any other suggestion?” Everyone shook their heads.

“Alright then, we’ll do the usual. Go in a circle, starting from you, Zart.” Zart agreed with Gally’s opinion, and so did all the other Keepers. Newt felt a tinge of guilt and pity for the boy, but he agreed anyway

“Very well, Chuck shall be a Slopper. Newt, tell him what he’s supposed to do. The rest of you, you may get back to what you were doing.”

Everyone trudged out of the big wooden shed to their respective places and Newt went off to find Chuck. The boy was lying in his hammock, playing with his fingernails and humming a soft tune to himself.

“Chuck!” Newt said, his voice almost angry. How dare this Greenie come here and laze around. Didn’t Alby tell him about the rules? What happened to ‘do your part’? And he remembered why Chuck wasn’t doing anything, and his purpose of even finding the boy. Chuck looked up at Newt with large eyes, a hint of fear in them. “I’m sorry about that outburst just now. We’ve decided on what job you’ll be getting. You’ll be a Slopper,” Newt said the last part monotonously.

“A Slopper? What is that?”

“Basically... the one who slops around, ya’ know?” Newt tried. He felt bad for having to make the young boy a Slopper. Chuck cocked his head in confusion, an eyebrow raised. “It’s like... the one who does the cleaning? You’re supposed to make sure the Glade is nice and clean and that it doesn’t smell of sweaty boys.”

“So someone like a cleaner,” Chuck said, expressionless. “I could deal with that. I mean, I’m not really that good at taking of plants. Or building. Or taking care of people. Don’t even mention running. I think I can cope with cleaning up the Glade. If we’re done here, I’ll go off and start my job,” he said with a small smile.

Newt stepped away and watched Chuck trudge away in an unmistakably dejected manner. It’s fine Newt, it’s all for the Gladers.

* * *

Another meeting was called two weeks later by Minho, and once again for the second time in the month, the Keepers gathered in the Homestead. 

“Sorry for interrupting your daily schedules and whatever, but I’d just like to discuss something about the Maze,” Minho announced. Everyone gave Minho curious glances and Newt gestured for Minho to continue. 

“So while running, one of my Runners noticed that there was a chunk of cement that’s about to come off the walls, so he requested that someone went in to make sure it wouldn’t fall off and block the way or even injure anyone. The crack isn’t that deep in the Maze; it’s about 2 turns off from the East Door. But it is pretty high up, and a Runner isn’t gonna be able to fix it on his own,” he explained.

“So you are asking if we can revoke the rule of not entering the Maze?” Alby clarified, his tone almost angry.

“Not revoke the rule. Make it an exception for whoever is going in. I really don’t want one of my Runners to get injured, that’s all,” Minho said.

“Gally? You’ve got any suggestions?” Alby asked.

“I could go in and help you shanks drill some wood in front to prevent it from dropping,” he suggested, but his voice wavered, and Newt could tell he didn’t want to go in. Not after he got stung minutes after he entered the Maze.

“No, I don’t think Gally should go in. If the wall collapses and hits him while he is patchin’ it up, we’re not gonna have a Keeper for the Builders,” Newt frowned. “Is there anyone else you can send into the Maze, Gally?”

Gally thought for a while, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as though he was in a dilemma. After a while, he spoke up. “I guess Ben could go in. He’s been with me for the longest time, and he’s the best we’ve got. After me, of course,” Gally added the last sentence in quickly.

“Anyone’s got any violent disagreements? Something like ‘Ben’s my boyfriend and I can’t afford him to get injured’?” Alby asked in a mocking tone, and a couple of Keepers at the corner snickered. “If not, Minho and Gally, please stay back to discuss the details. The rest of you shanks may leave,” Alby concluded,

The next day, Minho, Alby and Newt accompanied Ben to the East Door for him to start his repair works. “It’s a few turns down. I’ll bring him in there, and I guess you shanks could wait here for him to be done. We’ll be going in now,” Minho reported.

Minho and Ben took off into the Maze, a stack of wooden planks bouncing on Ben’s back and the sound of nails jiggling echoing through the corridors. Newt leaned onto the Walls and slid down until he was seated comfortably on the grass. Alby joined him, letting out a sigh as his back touched the wall.

“You alright?” Alby asked. Newt turned slightly to face him, raising an eyebrow at the question. 

“What do you mean? Of course I’m alright. Do I look unwell or something?”

“Nah, just concerned.”

“Alby, if this is about my suicide thing, I’m fine. I’ve kinda gotten over it already.” Alby sent one last concerned look at Newt, then drifted off into his own thoughts. Newt stared mindlessly into the lush greenery of the Glade, the warm sun giving his skin a golden hue. There was a comfortable silence between both boys as they waited for Minho and Ben to come out from the Maze.

* * *

Somewhere a few corridors into the Maze, there was a clinking of metal as a box of nails dropped onto the ground. A boy standing on a thick wooden plank bent over gingerly over to pick them up, when a sharp pain in his left shoulder made him lose his balance, crashing down on the floor with a loud boom, buried under wooden slabs. Not far away, there was a rustle of leaves and the sharp clanking of metal, and a large black creature disappeared over the wall.

* * *

 

Grunting and panting, Minho dragged Ben out, shouting at Newt and Alby for help. He dropped him on the grass, ran over to his side and swung his hand fiercely across Ben’s face. “Shuck it! Ben, wake up!” he cried, his breathing becoming deeper and more rapid.

“Minho, get away. The Med-jacks are here, so you have to clear some space for them,” Newt said, wrapping his arms around the boy’s torso and pulling him away into the Deadheads. Alby stayed behind to help the Med-jacks and find out what had happened to Ben.

The two stopped under a tree near the clearing in the middle of the forest, and Newt sat down, pulling Minho along. “Minho? Minho, are you alright? You wanna tell me what happened in there?” Newt asked hesitantly, his round eyes looking straight into Minho’s.

“I-I don’t know. I was just standing around the corner because Ben said he felt nervous when people watched him doing his Builder stuff. Then I heard a crash and saw something that looked like a Griever, but it climbed over the wall before I could see it properly. I don’t know, Newt. I feel so bad for getting him injured. It wouldn’t have happened if I was paying attention and listening out. Shuck. I don’t think he’s just injured. He was probably stung,” Minho confessed in a small voice.

“And you know what being stung means, Newt. He has to go through the Changing. It isn’t even his fault that happened. I shucking requested for someone to go into the Maze and fix up the wall. Worse thing is, we don’t know how he would be like after the Changing. He could just be like that Greenie who died from suicide a week after he came in.”

That Greenie. They didn’t even have a chance to know his name before the Changing took over his brain completely. “But he could be like Gally,” Newt said, trying to comfort Minho.

“Yeah. And look what happened to Gally. He freaking punched every single Glader he saw the moment he got out of the Homestead. The Changing literally changes the person, and it is certainly not for the better.”

The two sat solemnly against a tree, and Newt tried to convince himself that the Changing would not affect Ben that much. The rustling of leaves caught Newt’s attention as Alby appeared through the tall trees. “Ben’s fine. The Med-jacks gave him the Serum. He struggled a little when we first brought him into the Homestead, but he is pretty much knocked out.”

He glanced over at Minho’s dejected form, shoulders hunched over and head hung low. Placing a reassuring hand over his muscular shoulders, Alby said, “Hey. It’s fine, Minho. Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not like you could prevent the Griever from stinging Ben anyway. All we can do now is hope that Ben wouldn’t be that affected by the Changing. He’s a strong boy, I believe that he will get better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everyone! I'm really really sorry for not updating on Tuesday, but I have decided to update once a week (at least until I am 5 chapters ahead) but heyyyyy this chap is 2k words :)


	18. Here comes Tommy

Obviously, Gally did not react well to the news. "I leave Ben with you for 10 minutes, and you can't even make sure that he is safe? What kind of Keeper are you, Minho? You weren't even looking out for him!" He screamed at Minho once the Runner came out of the Homestead, fingers wrapped tightly around the front of his shirt.

It took Alby, Newt and Frypan to pull Gally away from Minho, and some 30 minutes for the Med-jacks to whip out a concoction that would sedate Gally. Ben responded to the sting just like all the other previous Gladers - bloodshot eyes, green bulging veins, bloody red scratched across his body, and the strong hallucinations that sent him crashing down the stairs of the Homestead, barrelling towards the nearest Glader.

For the next two weeks, Ben was tied down to his bed to prevent him from injuring himself or those around him, only being released from the tight ropes when the Med-jacks cleaned him up. Newt and Alby was always there when that happened to help Clint and Jeff in case Ben had another of his hallucinations.

But Gally wasn't the only one who had troubles handling the situation. Newt could tell that Alby was getting stressed out.

"It doesn't make sense, Newt. None of the other Gladers took that long to recover from the Serum. The longest was a week, and that was Gally. Probably because that shank's body mass is just  _that_  much."

He started taking his stress out on the other Gladers, snapping at them in annoyance, or just scowling at them disapprovingly when some shank did something stupid. Newt could only watch over Alby worriedly, or hand him a cup of tea.

Once again for about the 30th time since Newt came up, the alarms near the Box rang, its deep booming sound echoing through the Glade. Newt, together with a whole bunch of other Gladers, crowded over the metal doors, waiting for the Greenie to arrive. For about 2 minutes, the gears grinded, long metal chains down the shaft hauling the heavy metal cage.

Finally, there was no more movement, and Newt quickly went over to slide open the door. It wasn't like he was excited or anything; he just wanted to finish the job and go back to the Homestead to check on Ben. What hope could another Greenie bring to them if the past 30 didn't?

"Aww look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"I don't know - he looks pretty shuck ugly."

Laughter erupted amongst a bunch of boys somewhere to Newt's right, and he shot them a glare.  _Bloody immature idiots._  Newt tiptoed a little and peered curiously over Alby's shoulder, eager to see what the Greenie looked like. The dark skinned boy threw a rope in, tugging it up moments later, and Newt caught sight of a lump of dark brown hair. The Greenie wasn't  _that_  ugly like what one of the Gladers had said, but neither was he the best looking. Then again he couldn't tell, with the Greenie's face scrunched up, his hand half shielding his face from the sun, and a stupid puzzled expression.

Alby did his usual introduction to the Greenie, with Gally's grumpy interruptions that Alby angrier than he usually was. "Shut your hole, Gally!" He finally snapped, and Gally finally backed away, retreating into the Homestead.  _Probably just to check on Ben. I should stay away from there for a little while._

"I ain't good at this," Newt heard Alby say in a rather exasperated tone, running his hand through his hair. Newt found his behaviour amusing - big ol' grumpy Alby not being able to handle another Greenie. Walking over, he slapped his hand across Alby's head, giggling as he was finally unable to stifle his laughter.

"Wait for the bloody tour, Alby," he said, "he's gonna have a bloody heart attack. Just look at him!" Stretching his hand out to the Greenie, he introduced himself. "Name's Newt, Greenie." The said boy reached out to shake his hand, confusion swirling in his eyes.

"Pipe it, shuck-face," Alby snapped, but Newt could tell he intended it to be in a joking manner. A large hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling down to sit on the Grass. "At least he can understand half my words."

Behind him, he could hear some Gladers laugh, but he couldn't care less about anyone sticking around. It wasn't like there was anything the Gladers knew that he was going to share with the Greenbean. Alby continued with his rambling, and Newt had to remind him repeatedly to tone down. Finally, Alby dragged the Greenie towards the centre of the Glade and Newt followed, answering him when Alby seemed too annoyed to reply.

A scream came from the Homestead, high pitched and almost animalistic.  _Ben_. He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. That shank isn't supposed to be conscious until around sunset. "Shuck it. The Med-jacks can't even handle that boy for ten minutes without needing my help," he cursed under his breath. "Find Chuckie, and tell him he's in charge of your sleeping arrangements," Newt said quickly, excusing himself and bolting up the wooden stairs of the Homestead, Alby following close behind.

Ben was seated upright on his bed, one arm flailing wildly, his other tugging harshly on the restraints. Around him, Clint and Jeff were fumbling around with bottles that sat on the shelves.

"What the bloody hell happened here?!" Newt demanded, rushing over to press Ben's free hand firmly on the bed. Alby was at the other side, tightening the restraints around Ben's legs and pinning his other arm down.

Ben's screams only grew louder, and with each passing minute, it seemed as if he was getting less human.

"Not sure, Newt. We came up and found him getting out of his restraints. I don't think the meds helped much," Clint explained.

"What are you doing up here, Greenie?" Newt suddenly heard Alby yell and he turned his head quickly, spotting the Greenie standing at the door, his face pale and eyes wide in horror.

"I - uh - want some answers," he said dumbly.

_Oh my gosh, can this day get any worse._  Newt did a rather discreet eye roll, turning back to Ben.

"Get your runtcheeks down the stairs right now," Alby ordered, "and get Chuck to help you." Newt could make out the sound of someone stumbling down the stairs, and he rolled his eyes again.

"Found it," Jeff said, pulling a bottle off the shelf and sucking the clear liquid up with a needle, then pressed it firmly against the side of Ben's arm. With a strangled cry, Ben's body went limp as he collapsed unconscious on the bed.

"Keep an eye on him. At least 1 person to be in the room to watch him for the next 24 hours, and we'll see how he's like after that," Newt said solemnly, pulling Alby along and leaving the room.

"I don't know what is wrong with Ben," Newt sighed, running down the stairs 2 steps at a time while tugging on his blond locks.

"Maybe his brain can't take the Changing, or whatever the Griever stung him with is stronger than usual. Look, Newt. There's nothing we can do about Ben, other than to watch him and make sure he doesn't injure himself or anyone again. Ben's a strong boy; He'll get better," Alby paused for a while, turning to make sure Newt was listening to him. "You believe me right, Newt?"

_No. No, I don't. Why would I? How would you know?_  But Newt knew better than to argue with Alby, especially when he was already cranky after showing the Greenie around, so he just nodded his head in agreement.

"Yeah," he muttered, lost in his own thoughts as he aimlessly headed towards the corn field, "Yeah, that bloody shank will get better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeap. Thing are gonna start looking like TMR from now on, but I hope it will show you guys a different perspective of the book.


	19. It's a girl

Newt let out a loud groan of exhaustion as he stretched his legs out of his hammock, his mind in a confused state for the first few seconds.  _Oh crap._  He quickly closed his mouth and coiled into a ball to prevent waking the other Gladers up. Cautiously swinging his long legs out of his hammock, Newt made his way towards the new Greenie, not giving a damn about the smell that lingered in his mouth.

"Hey. Hey, Greenie, wake up," he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. Brown eyes snapped open and so did the boy's mouth, but Newt managed to slap his hand firmly over his mouth to prevent him from waking anyone up. The boy visibly relaxed after a couple of seconds, and Newt removed his hand, was very much disorientated, his face scrunched up. Either he was annoyed that he was woken up so early, or because of Newt's morning breath, but once again, he couldn't give a damn. A groan came from a hammock somewhere to his left. "Shhhh. Wake up; I've got something to show you."

Newt impatiently dragged the Greenie out of his hammock, the latter almost tumbling onto the ground. "Shuck. I'm sorry," he cursed under his breath. Pulling the boy's hand, Newt headed towards the West Doors, cutting across the mass of bodies that lay on the ground. Gingerly stepping over a Glader, Newt heard a cry of pain from somewhere under him, then a muffled groan that came from the boy behind him. "Sorry," the Greenie said with a very unapologetic tone.  _So much for being quiet._

The two trekked through the long grass until they reached the Doors. "Why did you even bring me here? And what are  _those_?" Newt caught sight of a moving red flashing as it scuttled along.  _Huh. The Beetle Blades, eh?_  "When you bloody need to know, you'll know, Greenie." There wasn't a point in telling the Greenie what those were, anyway. Not like he could catch them and make some escape plan out of those

"Well it's kinda stupid to show me around, then tell me that I don't need to know what it is," the Greenie paused for a moment, before spitting out with as much sarcasm as his scared, jumbled-up mind allowed him to, "shank."

Newt laughed, a laugh that seem closed to genuine, but really, it had twice as much sarcasm as the way the Greenie said "shank", probably even more. Newt cut it off quickly, a clear sign that he was not at all amused by the Greenie's poor attempt at annoying him. "I like you, Greenie. Now shut it and let me show you something."

Newt crouched down a little to part the long ivy, revealing a square of dust-covered glass. "What are we looking for?" the Greenie whispered. "Hold your undies," Newt warned, "one's coming soon." Newt stared off into the Maze, not taking his eyes away once. He caught a beam of light that seemed to have reflected off one of the Griever's metal legs.

"What is that?" the Greenie asked, seemingly amazed. "This is why I brought you here. Behind this door is the Maze. Everything that goes on in our lives revolves around it. We spend every single minute we have in this lovely place trying to solve a Maze. And I wanna show you why the Maze isn't something you'll wanna be messin' with. Show you why these bloody walls close every night, and why we tell you shanks to never, never get your shank ass in there."

Stepping away, he gestured for the Greenie to take his place in front of the Door, his arm still stretched out to clear a bit of the ivy. The Greenie hesitantly crept towards the Door, pressing his face towards the glass when he found he couldn't see what was going on.  _Shank's gonna klunk in his undies when he realises what is just in front of him_.

Sure enough, there was a loud thump on the door and almost instantaneously, the Greenie shrieked the most manly shriek Newt had heard, landing on his butt ungracefully.  _Just like all the others._  He expected the Greenie to turn around and look at him with frightened eyes, but instead, he got up and peered through the glass once more, stilled for a minute. Newt raised an eyebrow, watching him intently for any reaction.

Finally, the boy pulled away from the wall, asking Newt in a small, almost shaky voice, "What was that?"

"A Griever," he said simply. "Every night, those creatures come out into the Maze. There's a reason why those bloody doors close at night, shank. Won't want to wake up finding a Griever right on top of you, eh? You'd probably end up with klunk in your pants even before those bloody creatures kill you or something. Come on, it's getting bright and the Doors will open soon. Let's go wash up and have breakfast, yeah?"

The Greenie nodded dumbly, apparently still stunned from what he had seen. Newt strolled to the Homestead, and he could not help but notice that the Greenie was different from the other Gladers. None of them, in the 3 years that Newt had spent in the Glade, dared to even look back into the Maze after seeing a Griever up close.  _It's almost as if there was something in there that triggered some sort of memory. Or maybe he's just curious_. But then again, none of the Gladers were as curious as him.  _I guess there's always a first for everything. And this Greenie is gonna get first for curiosity. Maybe even stupidity_.

Over breakfast, Newt got to know more about the Greenie, like what jobs he considered, who he thought was nice in the Glade and most importantly, the fact that his name was Thomas.  _Thomas. Nice name, but Imma call him Tommy instead._

Thomas fired off questions like some sort of machine gun, not that Newt had the slightest idea what a machine gun was, and most of them revolved around the Maze. Things like what there was in the Maze, or if there was anything interesting in there. Thomas was just about to ask Newt about becoming a Runner when Alby interrupted, and Newt nearly punched the latter in his face.

The day passed without anything that interesting happening. Alby brought Thomas out for the tour after breakfast, the latter's face plastered with a seemingly unerasable confused expression. Newt spent his morning helping the Track-hoes in the Garden harvest the strawberries that grew in abundance at this time of the year, then went off a lunch break around noon.

Newt was definitely not expecting what was to come just seconds after he plopped onto a patch of dried grass with his plate of roasted chicken.

About a hundred yards away, the horn blared, and Newt could hear the distinct creaking of nearly worn-out gears. He looked around, puzzled at the change in pattern. The Gladers around him also sported similar confused expressions, some hesitantly walking towards the Box.

Abandoning his plate, Newt hurried towards the metal cage, going as fast as his limp allowed him to. Alby was by his side a minute later with Thomas on his right. He seemed to have caught onto the tense and nervous atmosphere, darting his eyes around and occasionally going still, as though he was trying to pick up bits of conversation.

Finally, Thomas asked the question Newt knew he was dying to ask. "Why's everyone so nervous? Pretty sure there have been many more people who have come up the cage before me."

"Because, shank, never in my 3 years of living in the Glade have I seen 2 Greenies arrive in the same month. Especially not in 1 week. Don't even talk about it being 2 days in a row. Damn sure you heard Gally blabber some klunk about having seen you, and that itself is pretty strange," Alby snapped.

Thomas visibly gulped, and quickly turned his attention back to the moving gears. Around Newt, the Gladers were mumbling amongst themselves. Newt had honestly no idea what to expect. Would it actually be a new Glader? Had his captors somehow messed up the alarm? Or was there some new unknown supply that was going to be delivered?

Before Newt knew it, the creaking halted, and as if in a trance, he opened the metal gates mechanically, jumping into the Cage and not even letting the jerking stop him. What he did see, however, brought him back to his senses. Frowning in confusion, Newt tried to make out what exactly the person in the Cage was.

"Holy...," he muttered under his breath.

_Is that a boy? It can't be, he's got long hair. I think its something... something called a girl? Yes. It's a girl._

"Shut up! Tell em' Newt. Tell them what you see," Newt could barely make out Alby's impatient words amongst the clamour of voices.

He looked up slowly, facing the Gladers.

"It's a girl," he said in a somber tone. Chaos broke out once again as the Gladers discussed amongst themselves. Something about the Greenie wasn't right.  _He- no she's not moving._

"That's not the bloody half of it," Newt said suddenly, "I think she's dead."

"I'll drop a rope down and get you up with the shank. Newt you ready?" Alby asked, dangling the end of a vine. Tying the rope around his waist, he held onto the possibly dead Greenie with his left arm and wrapped some vine around his other arm.

"Alright, pull me up."

Newt was shakily lifted off the ground, using his long legs to prevent him from hitting the rusty metal. When he came into contact with the grass, he hauled his body over, pushing the girl onto the grass.

Alby came over quickly, together with Clint and Jeff. The Gladers followed after Alby, peering over one another's shoulders to catch a glimpse of the Greenbean.

Newt turned around, pointing a finger at Thomas. "Greenie, get over here," he said exasperatedly.  _Screw the fact that his name is Thomas. This Greenie is in big trouble._  Honestly, Newt wasn't a hundred percent sure that Thomas was the cause of the arrival of the girl, but he knew for certain that Thomas had some sort of connection to the girl.

"You know this kid, shank?" Alby asked, also annoyed at the whole situation.

"Know her? Of course I don't know her. I don't know anyone. Well except for you guys," Thomas replied, face as confused as it has always been.

"That's not-" Alby began, and Newt gripped Alby's sleeve. He knew what to expect if he didn't. Alby was getting angry and frustrated, and frustrated Alby wasn't one that Newt wanted to pacify. "I mean, does she look familiar to you at all? D'ya remember seeing her anywhere?"

"No."

"You sure?" Suspicion and irritation seeped into Alby's words.

"Yes. Why?" Thomas said confidently, almost challengingly.

"Well shuck this. 2 Greenies in a row, one alive and one dead. Can't be a coincidence," Alby concluded.

"You don't think I-" Thomas said, his eyes wide and filled with fear.

"Slim it, Greenie. We're not saying you bloody killed the Greenie."

"I swear she doesn't look familiar at all," Thomas said again.

_Oh my klunk, Thomas. We get that you haven't seen the girl before_.

"Are you-" Newt started, officially annoyed with Thomas.

Suddenly from beside Newt, the girl bolted up into a sitting position while gasping for breath. She looked around frantically, darting her clear blue eyes from Glader to Glader. The sudden movement made Alby stumble and fall on his butt and Newt jump back in shock.  _Bloody hell, what the klunk just happened. I thought she was dead._

Taking deep breaths as if to calm herself down, the girl moved her lips rapidly, as if in a feeble attempt to convince herself of the situation she was in. Newt could barely decipher what she was something, and he caught some words like "wicked" and "flare", but nothing made sense to him.

The one last sentence she uttered, empty, shaky and possessed, caught his attention: "Everything is going to change."

_Well that's bloody reassuring_.

Blue irises rolled up until only whites could be seen as the girl fell onto her back, shooting her fist into the air. A slip of paper poked out of the small fist.  _What the bloody hell is wrong with the girl._

Hurriedly approaching the Greenie, Newt plucked the note out from her stiff fingers, clumsily unfolding the thin sheet of paper with his sweaty fingers.  _Oh my klunk. We are so bloody screwed._ Newt's shaky legs could no longer support his body as he collapsed onto his knees on the grass, trying to comprehend the magnitude of the situation.

On the dirty yellow paper, hastily scrawled in a thick marker pen were the words:  _She's the last one. Ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look who didn't update on time. But hey I think this is the longest chapter so far...? See you shanks next week :)


	20. Ben-ished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe see what I did with the title?

_She's the last one. Ever. What the bloody hell does that even mean._  Newt had no idea what was going on. First, the alarm rang one day after Thomas came, then they found a girl in the Box. Without supplies. And even after an hour, the Box never went down. Newt was starting to get worried. No, he wasn't just  _starting_  to get worried. He was already worried since the moment the Box came. At this point in time, Newt was in distress.

He hated the feeling of having his schedules messed up; of not knowing what to expect. Shakily getting up on his legs, Newt clenched his fists tightly, crumpled the paper in the process.  _Bloody hell. Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell..._

"Med-jacks!" Newt could barely hear Alby yell from beside him, his own mind fuzzy and jumbled up. He could hardly register the movement of Clint and Jeff in front of him, the two checking to see if the girl was injured.

_She's the last one? No one else is gonna come up the Box, eh? She's the last Greenie we're gonna see, I guess. Not like any of them helped anyway. But the Box. It should be going down by now. Bloody hell. What the shuck did I do to even deserve this. What the shuck were those Captors even thinking. Must be sick in the brain or something, putting a bunch of little kids to go mad trying to escape a Maze, then giving us a half-dead girl and telling us that things are gonna change. Whatever. We've got to escape this bloody hellhole._

"On the count of three," Clint said. "One, two, three!" Clint and Jeff lifted the girl off the ground in a swift motion, adjusting their arms to get her in a better position. Clint glanced at Newt, as if waiting from instructions. Newt opened his mouth to speak, but Jeff beat him to it. "Guess we'll just have to wait to see what has to be done. Could give her some soupy stuff if she doesn't wake up soon."

"Yeah. Watch her closely; must have something special 'bout her or she won't be sent up," Newt said.

"Put her next to Ben's room. Make sure you report to me every single thing that happens to her, and keep a watch on her day and night. If anything happens, I'd better know 'bout it. I don't care if she talks in her sleep, takes a klunk or rolls off the bed, you come tell me, you clear?" Alby said sternly.

"Yeah," Jeff muttered, and Newt made his way to the Homestead, the two med-jacks following behind him. Newt swung the door wide enough for the med-jacks to carry the girl in, then hurried over to the other side of the bed to cautiously lower her down.

"Could the two of you stay here and take care of the girl for 24 hours? Take shifts if you need, but make sure that you record down every single thing the girl says and does. Come find me me if she wakes up. If that shank is still deader than a bloody dried fish after a day, I'll personally skin her until the pain wakes her up."

"What about Ben, then?"

"Leave him. He hasn't shown any sign of consciousness for 24 hours, so he should be getting well. I guess you could just give him a little more meds to knock him out a little while more."

"'Kay then, Newt."

Jeff followed Newt over to the adjacent room and fumbled around with the many glass bottles, eventually finding one containing a clear liquid. Unwrapping a syringe from its plastic wrapping, Jeff sucked up the liquid, then stuck on a needle and pushed its sharp tip into one of Ben's green veins.

"I think he'll be out for at least another day. I'll go over to the girl's room now," he excused himself, leaving Newt alone in the room. Newt stared at Ben's infected form, the green veins throbbing, red sore patches of skin all over his body and the deep purple hue around his eyes. Sighing helplessly, Newt walked out of the room and went to the kitchen to look for his lunch. Frypan was handing out bowls of another of his not-so-appetizing stews, scooping a big ladle of the brown goo and dumping it into the round metal container.

"Hey, Newt. Relax those muscles, eh? Ain't no need to get so worried over a new Greenie. She might just help us get out of this klunk," Frypan comforted, patting Newt on his shoulder. Newt smiled slightly, Frypan's words only reassuring him slightly.  _How would he know._  After eating 2 spoons of stew, Newt could no longer eat another bite of food and returned the half-eaten food to Frypan, giving him an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Fry. Don't get me wrong, your food is nice, just that I've got no appetite today. I guess it's the nerves." He then proceeded to the Homestead to check on Ben again, only to find dark brown footprints on the stairs.  _Shuck. That's strange._  Quickening his footsteps, Newt hurried up to the second level of the wooden building and realised that the door to Ben's room was ajar.  _Bloody hell._

He peered in, and to his horror, the room was littered with broken glass bottles and a messy slosh of liquids mixing around in one huge puddle beside the shelf used to store all the medicine. The blanket on Ben's bed was twisted around the bottom and torn at the top. His pillow had bits of wool coming out from a gaping hole at the side.  _Shuck it, Ben. What did you do again?_

Newt ran off to find Alby, asking every Glader he could find if they knew where their leader was. "Just behind the Homestead, I think. Alby called for a Gathering," Zart said. Running to the other side of the building, Newt stopped by the small metal shack hidden in a small growth of trees. He swung the door open, cringing at the creaking hinges. Plucking a bow, 3 arrows and a curved sword off the wall, Newt went out and slammed the door close, clumsily locking it with his shaky hands.

He was lucky enough to find Alby alone, marching out angrily from the back door of the Homestead. "Hey, Alby," Newt panted, hunching over and resting his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. "Ben, he escaped. I don't know," he paused to take a breath, "I don't know where he is. But he's still undergoing the Changing. We need to make sure he doesn't injure anyone."

He handed over the bow and arrow to Alby, the latter giving him a serious look. "Do you know where he might be?"

"No. Only that he went out of the Homestead. He could be anywhere. The Gardens, the Deadheads, heck he could even be in the Blood House, and he could somehow get the knife and kill Winston and the rest."

"I don't think he'll be after Winston. If anything, it will be the girl, or Thomas. You know how suspicious the others have been of Thomas especially. But I don't know where that shank went to after I told him that he could go explore the place since I had to hold the Gathering."

Chuck happened to wander past, and Newt grabbed the little pudgy boy's shoulders. "Chuck, ya' know where Tommy boy went to?" Chuck giggled.  _Bloody hell, Newt. What sort of klunk nickname is that?_  "I think he went to the Deadheads," the short boy said, cheeks red from giggling.  _Thank you Chuck. The first damn thing you have done right in a month._

Newt ran, or rather limped quickly, towards the Deadheads, but Alby stopped him before he could make it halfway across the large grassfield. "Don't strain yourself, Newt. I can handle it." Newt gave him a look of concern, then turned around and hobbled back to the tall wooden building.

* * *

"Jeff, come outside for a while, would you?" Newt asked impatiently from the door. Jeff quietly slid out from his chair and tiptoed out of the room, not wanting to disturb the girl. "Did you hear anything? Anything like bottles breaking or some screaming?" Jeff shook his head.  _That's strange. The med-jacks would have at least heard Ben going through his hallucinations_. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Ben escaped from his room, and I have no idea how. You gave him the meds less than an hour ago, so he should be unconscious. Not up and potentially dangerous. Funny thing is, his room is totally wrecked and even you didn't hear it happen. Like, I don't know how you couldn't have heard the bottles break. Gally must have built these walls really well," Newt said in an accusing tone, laughing unamusedly. "You were sleeping, weren't you?"

Jeff chewed on his lower lip and gave Newt a sheepish glance. "I'm sorry, Newt. Shouldn't have, if not Ben wouldn't have gone missing."

"Shuck it," Newt groaned exasperatedly, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "Shuck it," he repeated. "Benny boy might be after Thomas. Heck he probably is."

"I'm sorry, Newt. I swear I gave him the correct meds," Jeff said frantically. "Whatever," Newt interrupted. Alby probably has that stuff settled already. Go take care of Thomas - he's coming up and he honestly looks like a shark bit his entire shoulder off. I'll go check on the girl, and when you see Alby, tell him to meet me in her room.

Turns out the girl has been in a comatose state, but somehow managed to talk in her sleep. Most of the things she said had the words "Changing", "Wicked" and "Thomas", which made Clint very amused.

"Maybe the Greenie's had a boyfriend before coming into the Glade," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Shut up, we've got no time for this sort of klunk. Continue to take down what she says, and see if there is any clue about the Maze," Alby snapped.

* * *

Newt, Alby, Minho and Gally ate their dinner in silence, and Alby was especially grumpy, constantly snapping at anyone who came within arms length from him. Thomas was visibly disturbed by what had happened that afternoon, and could not eat more than 3 spoons of stew before giving the rest to Chuck. And Newt was pretty much used to this sort of stuff, though he was significantly quieter than usual.

Newt fell asleep that night sandwiched between Alby and Minho, gripping his friends' hands in an attempt to calm them down. Minho still had not forgiven himself for causing Ben to get stung, and Alby was strangely bothered with the fact that he had shot at Ben.

* * *

In the dark, Newt groped around, trying to feel what was around him. "I'm sorry! Shuck I'm so sorry Ben! No..."  _Minho._ "No...," the boy repeated, voice quivering with fear. He suddenly registered a strong grip on his hand which tightened as time went on.

"Minho?" Newt called out. "Dude, are you alright?"

"No... no... no Ben don't do this!" the Asian boy cried.

Newt snapped awake. He turned to his right and found that Minho was still asleep, but he had a sheen of sweat on his forehead that glistened under the soft light the torches gave out. He was still muttering in his sleep, his lips moving furiously.

"Hey. Minho. Wake up. It's just a dream, shank. Wake up," Newt said in a loud whisper while squeezing Minho's hand in a constant rhythm.

Newt snapped awake. He turned to his right and found that Minho was still asleep, but he had a sheen of sweat on his forehead that glistened under the soft light the torches gave out. He was still muttering in his sleep, his lips moving furiously.

Slowly detaching his left hand from Alby's, Newt inched his body to a sitting position. "Hey. Minho. Wake up. It's just a dream, shank. Min, wake up," Newt said in a loud whisper while squeezing Minho's hand in a constant rhythm.

Round brown eyes suddenly opened and Minho gasped for air. "Minho, you alright there? You were having a bloody nightmare." Minho's dilated eyes darted to meet Newt's, but the fear in then drained away almost instantaneously.

"Yeah. I think I'm fine. Sorry for waking you up. Go back to sleep."

Newt gave Minho a suspicious look. "Come on, let's go out. We could talk about it over some carrot sticks. I'm a little hungry anyway."

Minho tried to argue with Newt, but the stubborn British would not refuse. Sneaking out of the Homestead, the two went into Frypan's kitchen to steal some of his sliced carrots that he kept in tupperware containers, then retreated into the Map Room.

"So. You wanna tell me what it was about?"

"It wasn't really anything," Minho started, and Newt glared fiercely at him. "Oh, fine. It was a nightmare," he admitted. "I think Ben was gonna get banished and we were waiting for the Doors to start closing, but he was blaming me for getting him stung, then suddenly all the other Gladers looked like Ben, and they just somehow managed to morph into this big Ben and started pushing me into the Maze instead. It's nothing, really."

For some strange reason, an image of a huge clock tower popped out in Newt's brain, but he forced it away.  _Not the time to be thinking of random memories. Minho needs help_.

"Newt? Minho? You shanks there?" said Alby through the thick wooden walls. "Yeah," Minho croaked out, voice a little raspy from the shock and fear. Alby appeared through the door, carefully shutting it so that it would not make a sound. "Thought I heard you two leave the Homestead. Don't worry, you didn't wake me up. The Baggers did. 'pparently they were gonna clear Ben's body from the Deadheads and found that he was still alive. Well that shank's gonna regret it. He's in the Slammer now. I'll call for a Gathering later in the morning at around 10. Hey, pass me a carrot stick would you, Newt?"

Newt mindlessly reached the cup out towards the boy. Ben had attacked Thomas, and he was going to get Banished for it. It wasn't even his fault - he was just doing a good deed and making sure that none of the Runners would get injured. But if it wasn't his, whose was it? Minho's? He was just letting Ben do his job comfortably. Gally's? For sending Ben instead of someone else? That would be ridiculous. Thomas'? That clueless kid didn't expect Ben to be there. Bloody hell, no one did. Jeff? Maybe, but Newt knew how exhausted the med-jacks were.

If anyone was to blame, it would be the Creators. For trapping a bunch of teenagers in a prison, and watching them run around like lab rats. Newt swore to himself that the moment he found a Creator, he would bash that bastard's head against the nearest piece of furniture, break all his bones, then lock  _him_  in the Maze to be eaten by the Grievers.

"Alright, now tell me. Why the sudden night party?" Alby asked, his mouth full of the orange vegetable.

"Bad dream," Minho stated simply. Alby looked over at the asian boy and raised an eyebrow, a gesture for Minho to explain himself. "Gosh, do I really have to tell this story again?" he muttered under his breath, sending Newt a look of "explain it for me, please?"  _Very well then._  "Bad dream," Newt repeated, "about Ben blaming him for everything, then pushing him into the Maze."

All three of them went silent, the only sound filling the air being the soft trickling of water from the stream behind the Map Room, and the crunching of carrots. "We should get back to the Homestead. I still have to explore the Maze tomorrow," said Minho after a while, getting up on his feet and stretching his body.

"I've got to bring Tommy around the Glade again tomorrow," Newt said.

* * *

"So this is the Blood House. The Keeper is Winston, and he'll be teaching you how slice up some bloody animals. Literally."

Standing in front of the Blood House, Newt watched as Thomas roamed his eyes around the building. "Hey. Hey, Thomas, you listening to me?"

The said boy visibly snapped out of whatever he was thinking of. "Yeah? Yeah. Sorry Newt; couldn't sleep well last night," he said frantically.  _I couldn't either_ , but Newt just gave Thomas what he figured was a sympathetic smile. "I honestly wouldn't either if I was chased by someone who was going through the Changing. Bloody hell, I probably seem like a heartless slinthead; sending you off to work after what happened yesterday."

"Work sounds good. Anything to keep my mind off it," Thomas replied.

"That's good. You're as smart as you look, Tommy. That's what keeps the Glade running - you get lazy, you get sad, then start giving up. Plain and simple."

"How's the girl?"  _The girl, huh._  Newt very nearly told Thomas about how the girl kept saying his name, but he shut up at the last second.  _Not the best idea to tell him about this sort of stuff right now._

"Still in coma. The med-jacks have been spoon-feeding her whatever soup Frypan can make, checking her vitals, that sort of stuff. It's getting pretty annoying; she's healthy but just won't wake up."

"That's just weird."

"Huh. Weird. That's 'bout as good as anything around here is gonna get nowadays."

Thomas inhaled deeply, and asked, "so what are we gonna do today? Milk some cows? Or slaughter some poor little piggies?"  _Pfft. Milk cows. You think you're a milkmaid, Tommy?_

"Nah," he said, laughing. "We always make the Greenies start off with the bloody Slicers. No worries, the Slicers are the ones cutting up Frypan's food."

"Too bad I can't remember anything before coming here. Maybe I loved killing animals."  _Good that_.

"You'll find out soon. Come on, let's go find Winston." Newt lead him into the metal shack, introduced him to the Keeper then took his leave.

* * *

"Alright, so the Baggers found Ben in the Deadheads," Alby started off. "He's alive and currently unconscious but he injured Thomas. The Greenie. He knows very well about the rule of not injuring another Glader and its consequences. Anyone has any objections to his Banishment, speak now."

Gally's hand shot up instantly. "Yeah, and who's fault was it that he got stung?" Minho's face fell. "Ben isn't even in the right state of mind anyway. How do you expect him to be able to remember the rules? You said so yourself, Alby. Ben attacked Thomas. Why Thomas? There is something up with that boy. I'll tell you, that Greenie looks familiar. I've seen him before, and he doesn't trigger any good memories in me. And what about you, Alby? You talk about having consequences when you injure another Glader, and yet you shot Ben right in the face. Isn't that harming another Glader too?"

"So because of that, Ben has a reason for attacking Thomas, and the rule should not apply to him? And you don't think he should be Banished for that?" Newt clarified, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "And for your information, Alby shot Ben in the face because he was  _injuring_  another Glader. What, you want Ben to bite the whole of Thomas' arm off?" Newt could swear he saw Gally mouth, "I wish he did," to Winston.

"Look, Gally, I'm sorry, but this isn't the first time we've had to do this. You never disagreed the past few times, so why now?" Frypan tried to reason. "I understand that Ben has been your closest friend since he joined the Glade, but you've got to realise that he isn't the same anymore. Not ever since the Changing, and he probably will never be. You can blame everyone and everything, but nothing's gonna change."

Gally went silent instantly, an angry look still on his face, but Newt could tell that Gally felt hopeless. "So it is confirmed, Ben will be banished this evening. The Gathering's over, and you may get back to whatever you were doing," Alby announced.

* * *

"Hey, Newt. Guess what," Minho whispered with a stupid grin. The Runner had just taken his bath, and his still wet hair was dripping freezing cold water all over Newt's arm. "Gosh, Minho! Dry your bloody hair!" Newt said in mock frustration. That stupid grin on the asian boy's face stayed visible even as the once-white towel covered half his face.

Minho leaned in even closer, glancing around the empty Homestead furtively. Lowering his voice even more, he said, "I found a dead Griever."  _What?_  "A dead Griever," Newt repeated. Minho nodded. "Did you see anything weird about it?"

"Yeah, I guess you could call it weird. First, it didn't move. Not even when I threw a pebble at it. Second, it kinda looked like a ball of gooey slime. There wasn't a sign of those sharp things that pricked and stung people. Alby wants to go get it tomorrow morning."

"Thats... dangerous," Newt muttered.

"Oh come on, Newt. That slinthead is dead. You know what dead means - not moving, can't move? Yeah. It's  _dead_. I'm going along anyway, just in case one of us gets injured." A thick silence hung like a dark cloud. "Hey, no need to worry. This could maybe even help us get out of this hellhole. It's almost 5. We should get going."

Newt let out a long sigh, still reluctant to let his friends go into the Maze and poke at a supposedly dead Griever. He knew just how impulsive Minho was. It wasn't that he didn't trust him... or maybe he didn't. Not with something like this.

"Minho, could you get the poles? I'll gather the rest, and we'll meet at the East Door, kay?" The boy nodded his head, gelled fringe bobbing up and down. "Sure. I'll be at the Map Room too, just to check on their progress. See ya, captain Newt!" he said cheekily, giving him a mock salute and sprinting away.

Newt ran his fingers through his blond knotted hair, inhaling deeply as he did so. Trotting away with heavy footsteps, he found the Keepers and relayed the information to them. By 6.30, Newt had everything ready - the poles resting against the wooden fences of the Garden, Gladers gathered outside and the collar strapped firmly around Ben's neck.

The Banishing wasn't something that Newt hadn't done before. Heck, he had done it at least 3 times, but that chilly shiver still ran down his spine when he heard Ben's pleads for Alby to give him another chance. Minho's face was tight and almost emotionless, and Gally's face still had that scowl but his eyes literally screamed "no, I can't do this". The stone doors drew nearer and nearer and Ben got push farther and farther out of the Glade. The loud boom of the doors closing resonated through the Glade for the thousandth time since Newt had entered the glade, shutting out the blood curdling screams the infected boy made.

Shivering from the cold wind and the horrifying images of Ben's banishment that flashed through his mind, Newt stuck his hands in his pockets and walked back to the Homestead. He had absolutely no appetite for even Frypan's meat patties, which were probably the best things that he had ever had in the Glade.

His sleep was plagued with more terrifying images, sometimes scenes of the Banishments of other Gladers. But he never once woke up, drowning in the seemingly eternal nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there fossils. I haven't updated for wayyy more than a month, but hey the sniffly's alive! Anyway, I was still thinking of delaying it even more to Feb 14 and give you this 4k word chapter on Valentine's Day, but that would be a little too mean wouldn't it ;) So you kids will most probably get a chapter on Feb 14, and maybe one on Feb 19-21 as a Chinese New Year gift for all those who celebrate the festive occasion!


	21. Alby and Minho are gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoot hoot hoot look who's back

Newt hated to admit this, but what Gally said was true. Once Thomas came, everything did, indeed, change. First, a new Glader came one day after Thomas. Without supplies. And it was a girl. And then, Minho found a dead Griever deep in the Maze. How did the Grievers die? Was there anyone else in the Maze? Why was it even out at daytime?

Which is why Minho decided to go investigate on the dead Griever. Alby wanted to tag along, afraid that Minho might get attacked by more Grievers and possibly die. Afterall, it was better to travel in pairs... right?

As an ex-runner, Newt would have followed, but Alby strongly refused. "Not to offend you, Newt, but you can't outrun a Griever. Not with your leg." Newt nearly snapped back "Not like you can either, heck you haven't even tried running an  _entire day_  in the Maze before," but he quickly stopped himself. Alby wouldn't be gone an entire day; he'd just go in with Minho, find the Griever and drag that slinthead out.

But deep inside, he knew it wasn't that he really wanted to go. He just couldn't bear the thought of letting Alby go into the Maze. He knew how dangerous it was, and what if he died? How would he be able to take care of all the Gladers? But Alby kept assuring him that Minho would take good care of him. With a heavy heart, Newt eventually relented.

Alby and Minho left the Glade early that morning, and Newt woke up even earlier to prepare breakfast and send them off. It wasn't like they were going to leave forever, but Newt never knew when it would be his last time seeing his two best friends. "Be careful. If any of you die, I'll find your bloody bodies and kill you shanks again."

"Wow Newt, that logic!" Minho scoffed. "No worries, shank. We'll make it out of the Maze alive," he reassured, pulling Newt into a hug. Alby squeezed his way between the two, flinging his arms around them.

"Trust him, Newt. He's the Keeper of the Runners, and he'll keep me alive too," Alby said.

"Alright then, we'd better head off now so we can come back in time. See ya, Newt. Don't klunk in your pants waiting for us, kay?" With a wave, Minho took off with Alby following close behind, the silhouettes of the two boys disappearing through the West Doors.

Newt unwilling left the Doors to do help out around the Glade. Most of the Gladers were already awake, some washing up while others were having breakfast on a picnic table. Newt smiled faintly at the sight of the normal sight of the Glade, trying to take his mind away from the two boys out in the Maze.

"Newt, you alright? You seem pretty off today. Is it because of Minho and Alby?" Frypan asked, frustrated at the Second-in-Command's jumpy behavior.

"I guess," he admitted. "I didn't have a good sleep last night either. I don't want either of them to get injured or worse still, die, but I think that bloody Griever has something to do with our escape."

"Just... try to take your mind off it, ok? You mind helping me out at the Kitchen today? We could make some cookies for everyone," Frypan suggested, trying to take Newt's mind off the whole situation.

"I guess? I might burn them though. Then everyone will have bloody badly burnt cookies," Newt joked. The blond spent the rest of the morning mixing flour and flattening the dough onto flimsy metal trays, and with a little of Frypan's help, they got perfect crunchy cookies.

"Look how much better you've gotten! You've come from burning stew to baking cookies!" Frypan praised, and Newt felt a slight sense of satisfaction. Lunch that day was just the previous night's stew heated up with some toast. "Sorry for not changing the menu, but Newt's baked some cookies," Frypan said, still in a very good mood.

"Thanks," Newt softy muttered, grateful that Frypan had made the effort to cheer him up.

After lunch, Newt brought Thomas, to go see what tasks he was suitable for. For the entire afternoon, the two helped Zart and the track-hoes at the Garden, tending to the ripe tomatoes that grew red and juicy. Newt was almost able to get his mind entirely off Alby and Minho, until he felt the heat of the evening sun burn his skin. He glanced at his watch. 5.30.  _They should have been back hours ago!_

Thomas seemed to have sensed Newt's sudden change in emotions. "What's bugging you?" he asked. "Is it about the girl? Don't worry about her, I'm sure she'll be fine."

"I don't know. I don't know, Tommy," the nickname slipped naturally from his mouth. "They should be back by now. Bloody hell, they should have been back by lunch time. Alby and Minho! This could mean two things. Either they found a way to escape, or they are injured or even dead. I'm hoping it is the former, but something tells me it isn't that bloody simple and happy."

Dinner that day had a very sombre mood, the Gladers hardly able to stomach anything. Everyone couldn't calm their nerves, and soon half-eaten plates of steak and mashed potatoes were left on the grass and the table. Newt was the first to leave the table, clanking his utensils loudly against the plate as he got up suddenly, shocking Thomas and several others.

"I can't stand this bloody waiting anymore," Newt muttered under his breath as he took off to the walls of the Glade, running from door to door, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Alby and Minho's figures. He stopped at the West Doors where the two left that day, peering far down the dark stone corridors. A gust of cold air sweeping past his face as a chill crept down his spine. The air was one thing. His fear was another. Newt was absolutely  _terrified_  of the Maze. It was where he had tried to die, and though he did crave for death, he had somehow developed a love-hate relationship for the Maze which eventually evolved into fear.

Several Gladers gathered around Newt, curious about the outcome of the their fellow Gladers. "Why aren't they back yet?" "The Doors are going to close soon." "Are they alright in there?" Newt could hear the hushed whispers of the Gladers which made him even more anxious.

"Newt, are you alright? Newt!" Thomas asked from beside him.

"No. I won't be bugging  _alright_  until those two shanks get their shuck asses back. And when they do, I'll skin them alive," Newt snapped, the anxiety making him irritable.

"They don't have much longer til the Doors closed. Maybe 5 minutes," a Runner announced from somewhere at the back. Newt nearly lost it at that comment and wanted to punch that shuckface right in the nose.  _I know, okay? Just shut up._

"Can't we send a search party to go-" Thomas said, but Newt briefly interrupted him.

"Bloody hel-" Newt stopped to take a deep breath. There was no point losing his cool in times like these. "We can't. Okay? Don't ever mention that. Didn't you listen to Alby when he listed down the rules? 'Never go outside the Glade'. Especially not when those buggin' Doors are going to close anytime."

"But why? The Grievers might get them. Shouldn't we send someone to save them?" Thomas asked again. His questions got on Newt's nerves, and Newt finally exploded. He turned to face Thomas completely, face burning with fury.

"Shut your hole, Greenie. You've been here for not more than a week. You think I won't go and save those bloody shanks?"

"I- I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." Thomas couldn't seem to find the right words. Newt immediately softened, feeling sorry for snapping at Thomas.  _He just wants to help them_ , he reminded himself.

"Look, Thomas. We all made an oath. Minho and Alby included. Even you. No one goes into the Maze, especially not at night." Newt stopped, unable to continue. Somewhere beside him, Chuck spoke up.

"Newt won't say it, so I will. Minho's too smart to get lost. If it's anything, they are dead."

"Shank's right. They won't be coming back." Newt felt a deep gnawing pain at the bottom of his chest, the words making him realise the severity of the situation. His eyes moisten, clouding his vision, and everything that surrounded him was just anguish and despair.  _They won't be coming back_ , he repeated in his mind.

"Two more minutes," he muttered under his breath, and the next two minutes that ticked by went horrifyingly fast. The grinding of gears resonated through the Glade deep and loud as Newt watched the stone doors slide close. And then there was a faint movement somewhere in the Maze, but Newt couldn't be sure that it wasn't his eyes playing tricks on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter wasn't too short; school's getting really busy and all the tests have started. I'd be uploading the next chapter next Saturday as Lunar New(t) Year gift to all you kiddos. Once again, thanks for reading!


	22. Everyone's alive

"It's them! Newt! I can see them! It's Alby and Minho!" Thomas cried out, pointing frantically at Maze. Newt knew he wasn't imagining things, it was them alright. But something was wrong with the two of them. Alby seemed... dead. And Minho wasn't in any better shape. He was hunched over, gripping Alby's left arm which was slung over his shoulders, his other wrapped around Alby's waist, dragging him by the side of his shirt. "There's something wrong with Alby," Newt said, his voice emotionless.

"Come on, Minho! You can do it! Just a few more yards!" Gally screamed. Newt really hoped that they were able to, but the Doors were closing fast. They probably only had 20 more seconds till the Doors slammed shut. Newt subconsciously brought a hand up, stroking it up and down his upper arm. It was a sort of habit he had developed after his incident; it gave him comfort, gave him the feeling as if Minho and Alby were there to calm him down after his nightmares.

"Drop him, Minho! Drop him and run!" someone shouted from the back. Drop him? Alby? What was that shank thinking? Newt felt selfish for a split second. How could someone ask Minho to just abandon Alby and run? But he knew Alby would have asked Minho to abandon him in the Maze.  _Come on, Minho. Run!_  Newt nibbled on his bottom lip nervously, his grip on his arm tightening.

"They won't make it," Newt finally said. It was impossible. Minho had given up carrying Alby on his back and resorted to pulling him backwards by his arms. He let out a cry of frustration and exhaustion, face contorted with pain. Around Newt, the Gladers kept repeating the same thing. "Come on, Minho! Just a little more!"

But it wasn't "just a little more". Through the narrow gap the closing doors made, Minho probably still had about 10 metres and just 3 more seconds to make it back in time. Suddenly, there was a sharp movement to his left, and he couldn't react in time as Thomas dashed forward, heading for the Doors.

"No!" Newt cried out, reaching out to drag Thomas back but his reflexes were too slow. Thomas slid through the Doors, his body nearly getting squashed by the heavy doors. With a loud and deep boom, the Doors shut, cutting off Minho's and Thomas' screams. Everything around him went silent, even the shouts from the Gladers. Newt stared at the doors in shock, body rigid and stiff, as if his soul had been taken away.

It couldn't be possible. He had loss Minho and Alby, and now even Thomas. That dumb shank. "Wow," Gally breathed.

"What just happened...," Zart said incredulously.

"They... They're gone," Newt muttered dumbly. "They're gone," he repeated even louder. "Dead. Never going to return. They belong to the Maze," he spoke louder and clearer for everyone to hear. He turned to look at everyone else, hoping for someone to tell him otherwise.

Everyone just stood by forlornly, shocked by the sudden twist of events. "I guess that's enough for the night. It's getting dark. Let's get back to the Homestead," Gally announced, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. Newt refused to move, his eyes fixed to the walls, hot tears streaming down his face.

"Minho! Alby? Thomas? Can you bloody shanks hear me?!" Newt shouted as loudly as he could, hoping for some sort response from the other side of the Doors. His voice only echoed through the large Glade, making him feel lonelier. New collapsed on the floor, the stress from losing two of his best friends and one that he just made overwhelming him.  _They are gone. Alby. Minho. Even that shank Thomas._

"Come on, Newt. Let's get back to the Homestead, ok? We'll just have to wait and see if Thomas and Minho can save themselves," Frypan said softly, tugging Newt by his arm.  _They can't, Fry, and you know that too._ When Newt refused to budge, Frypan crouched in front of him and pulled Newt's arms over his neck, then grabbing the boy's legs and carried him on his back. Newt was entirely numb and didn't even register it when his back hit the hard wooden floor.

The night passed agonizingly slowly, the sounds of metal clanking jolting him awake every time he dozed off. Eventually, Newt figured that there was no point sleeping. How could he anyway? Not when his friends were still out in the Maze, fighting for their lives. Minho was probably trying to get Thomas off a Griever, and Alby was most likely somewhere behind them, slumped against a wall. He might be dead, but Newt chose to ignore that large possibility.

* * *

Finally, the Glade started getting brighter and brighter. Newt got up from the floor and dashed over to the Doors. Behind him, Chuck followed closely, chattering non-stop. "Newt, do you think they'll make it? I trust that Thomas and Minho can make it out. Maybe they were able to save Alby! Oh god, I really hope they're alive!"

"Shut it, Chuck!" Newt growled, roughly running his fingers through his hair, irritable from the lack of sleep and the anxiety. Chuck flinched at Newt's outburst, and Newt's face immediately softened. "Look, Chuck. I'm sorry about that, but we don't know if they will make it. No one has ever survived a bloody night in the Maze, and what makes you think Minho can save Alby's and Thomas' sorry asses? Thomas made a huge mistake going into the Maze. Now Minho's got an extra person to take care and look out for, and Thomas's probably not going to be able to help much, considering how he's just a bloody newbie."

The two of them stood in front of the Doors, its huge stone walls still shut. Newt took a quick glance at his watch. 5 more minutes till they open. He paced around impatiently, kicking up bits of loose soil. "Shuck it, they had better be alive," Newt muttered to himself, barely audible for Chuck to hear.  _I promised that bloody slinthead Alby I won't ever kill myself, so he had better not die. At least not without putting up a fight._

Not too long later, the Doors creaked open, the rough grinding of stone bring Newt out from his thoughts. He stumbled over his wobbly legs and jogged over, staring into the hazy corridor. There wasn't a soul in sight. He was right. They wouldn't survive the night. "They... they're aren't here," Chuck whispered to himself.

"I told you so, Chuck," Newt sighed, walking back to the Homestead. He didn't know how to react to the news. He knew that the odds of them being able to escape alive were very small, but he still could not accept it. His vision blurred again as tears gathered in his eyes, but no matter how much he wanted to turn around and run into the Maze to look for them, he could not bring himself to.

"Wait!" Newt heard a Glader shout, and Newt spun around. "Hey! Hey it is them!" Chuck cried out, pointing to the Maze. Newt squinted and sure enough, the silhouette of 2 boys appeared. He could make out the figure of Minho and Thomas dragged their exhausted bodies towards them, the bodies moving up and down for every deep breath they took.

"Med-jacks!" Newt ordered, turning his attention back to his friends. He dashed as fast as his bad leg allowed him to into the Maze, momentarily forgetting about that his fear. "How the bloody hell-,"

"Let's save the stories for later; we've got to get Alby," Thomas interrupted.

 _Alby?_  "What... What do you mean? He's alive?" Newt asked, confused.

"Just follow us," Thomas said urgently, leading him to a wall of ivy. Newt looked up, and spotted the limp body of his friend. He was slumped forward, barely supported by the ivy wrapped around his arms and torso. He was in one piece, alright, but there was no sign of movement.

"Is he alive?" Newt asked.

"I don't know," Thomas said. "He was when I left him there."

"When  _you_  left him," Newt repeated, but shook his head. He couldn't blame Thomas for leaving Alby there. Afterall, he managed to get Alby to safety, if a spot somewhere on a ivy-covered wall is considered safe. "Just go wash up and get checked by the med-jacks. You shanks look bloody awful. I want to hear the whole story after you've rested."

Thomas turned around to look at Alby, but Minho quickly dragged him away. "We need sleep. And bandages. Now," he urged. He seemed to have sensed that Newt wanted some time alone with Alby.

Newt was thankful that Alby was tied onto a wall that couldn't be seen from the Glade; it gave him a little privacy he needed so that no one caught him crying. It didn't take him long to get Alby down. He quickly found the piece of ivy that got Alby up, and he loosened it slowly, trying to keep himself rooted to the ground and not drop Alby quickly. Once Alby got his feet onto the concrete, Newt untied the tight knots that kept him secured to the long green plant, rubbing the areas that were tied off.  _Thomas you dumb thing, you tied it a little too tight. His hand could have dropped off_.

Alby was still breathing, though it was slow and shallow. Arms hooked under Alby's armpits, Newt dragged him towards the Glade. It took quite some time to move his heavy body, and he clenched his jaws tightly, bearing with the pain that shot up his leg every time he shifted his weight to his left side. Finally, he saw the Glade and persevered for the last few meters. Frypan quickly ran forward to help him and got Alby onto his back.

"I'll carry him to the Homestead. You've done well, Newt," Frypan said, effortlessly carrying Alby. Newt hastily limped past Gally and the other Gladers, too tired to care about Gally's arrogant expression. He made his way to the Homestead, worry growing quickly in him. Stumbling up the wooden stairs, Newt ignored the pain in his leg as he swung the doors open. The Med-jacks, Minho and Thomas turned their attention to him.

"Is everyone alright? No wounds?" Newt asked. They all shook their heads. "Fine then, I want some bloody explanation. Let's starts with Alby. What the actual heck happened to him?"

"The dead Griever. The slinthead got up and stung him yesterday," Minho explained.

"Then what went on in the Maze? How did you shanks survive? Did you find anything?"

"We saw a Griever," Thomas answered casually.

"We didn't just  _see_   _one_. There was a whole hoard, like five of them, and Thomas killed them all," Minho clarified, staring right into Newt's eyes. There was only one thought in his head. How? Thomas, the Greenie, who had barely been there for a day, had not only gone out into the Maze before being appointed a Runner, but had killed the Grievers, the creature that had been haunting him for as long as he knew.

"He managed to trick them off the Cliff. And I think we found a way to escape," Minho continued slowly, eyes searching for some sort of reaction from Newt. Clint and Jeff looked at each other sceptically while Newt only quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"A way to escape," he repeated. "Would you care to enlighten me about it?" Minho nudged Thomas who was standing beside him. "You saw it, you explain it."

"Well so basically I- no. We. Tricked them into rolling off the Cliff and we happened to find a spot somewhere off the Cliff that the Grievers just disappear from. They didn't just drop and fall off like normal rocks would; they  _vanished_ ," Thomas said.

"Which is strange. Because for the past 3 years, I've tried throwing rocks off and not a single one of those bugging things disappeared," Minho elaborated.

"This is strange indeed. I'll call for a meeting after you guys have rested. Maybe tomorrow. Now if you'd excuse me, I would like to check on Alby," Newt concluded. The Med-jacks led Newt out of the room to the one beside it.

Alby lay on the bed, expression almost peaceful. There was no movement from him, and Newt would have thought he was dead if not for the occasional murmuring. "I've given him the Serum already, but I'm not sure when he'll wake up, and whether he will even be normal when he finally does. He didn't get the Serum immediately after he was stung," Clint said from the other side of Alby's bed.

"Okay then. Thanks for all this. You may leave. I'll stay here to watch him," Newt said. That was the least Newt could do, especially with how Alby had taken care of him after his suicide attempt. He dragged a chair beside his bed and sat down, resting his elbows on the soft mattress.

Newt observed the boy, watching the green liquid course through his bulging vein. On his forehead, there was a white bandage with a small red patch in the middle where the blood just soaked through.  _I'll remind the Med-jacks to change it tomorrow._  "Or I could just do it myself," Newt sighed.

He went to the other side of the room where a shelf of bandages and bottles stood. He grabbed a packet of gauze and some tape, then proceeding to change the bandage. On Alby's collarbone, there was another bandage with dark blue veins branching out. Newt gazed at his friend's frail body sadly, praying and hoping that he would get better soon.

For the next two hours, Newt watched Alby, making sure he was comfortable. His constant groans and mumbles would keep Newt awake. Finally, exhaustion overcame him as Newt slowly shut his eyes, the knowledge that his friends were safe lulling him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sup friends, could I just say something, the next chapter I have is the Crank Palace because I stupidly wrote the last 6 chapters for this whole fic. So I've got to write an entire chapter and the 7 tests and projects that are due over the test 2 weeks aren't helping much. The next chapter probably won't be up that soon, but I guess it depends on how my strange brain operates when I'm stressed. I might well end up writing to escape from all the stress. In other words, no promises that I'll update soon.
> 
> On a happier note, Happy Lunar New(t) Year to all those who celebrate this really festive occasion! Have fun, eat all the food and goodies, mix around with people and catch up with all your friends and relatives!


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